


Cascading Feathers on a Translucent Eve

by Deko_Ni



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angel Wings, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel Has Stolen Grace, Castiel Has Trust Issues, Castiel POV, Dean POV, Dean isn't, Developing Relationship, Episode: s09e09 Holy Terror, Fever, First Kiss, Forced survival, Gadreel is gone, Graceless Castiel, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Loosely based on this episode, NaNoWriMo, Neither is Castiel, Oblivious Castiel, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam is fine, Season 9, Wingman Sam Winchester, tetanus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-08-25 02:04:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deko_Ni/pseuds/Deko_Ni
Summary: Castiel has been a being of infinite power since the beginning of creation. An Angel made to serve the Lord and mankind.After stealing Theo's Grace, however, things turn for the worst, but at least Sam and Dean are by his side in his time of need.Dean makes a few discoveries along the way.---An investigative fic on how Cas deals with no longer being an Angel while Dean struggles with his sexuality. Sam is just along for the ride.





	1. November Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece I've been writing for the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge and i'll be posting the fic in its entirety here.  
> I plan to finish this by the end of the month, but life has a way of screwing us over.  
> Wish me luck!

The night is cold and Castiel can’t help but shiver in the cascading wind. He’d experienced this very moment sometime prior, so feeling it now was an agonizing memory.

He missed his Grace and the way it made him feel- the warmth of its presence and the buzzing of power under his fingertips and at the tips of his toes. Losing it again and again was completely and utterly disheartening. 

He’d taken that Angel’s Grace and for a moment it was justified and revitalizing. And then it slipped away in a mere instant as if it had never been there in the first place.

He should’ve known stealing Theo’s Grace was a lost cause, though he couldn’t help but try at least. It was retribution for what he’d tried to do. He sinned- killing his own brother after vowing not to- and was punished for it. He had gotten away from them- the Angels from Heaven whom placed a number on his head- though not in peak condition. He racked his brain for some memory, some idea as to how he’d gotten away in the first place.

He was currently lying, his back leaning heavily against the brick wall between two buildings- crouching as low as possible from visibility, fearful of being found in such a compromising and pathetic position. His only shelter at the moment was a dumpster and the shadow that was cast from it. 

He wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to stay warm. In an attempt to keep his mind from wandering. Castiel didn’t want to remember the events that had happened the last time he was human. The last time he had gone without his Grace- pushed away onto Earth where he was grounded and without the comfort of heavy wings to help support him. When he had not even a friend in the world that would stick around or help him in his time of need.

He had appeared just on the edge of Delacroix in Louisiana where he was found nearly dead on a fishing boat- and very much human. The odd feeling of waking up thirsty and aching in a hospital bed was absolutely jarring.

And no one was there to support him. He was “wired” money from Bobby and immediately found his way to a bus stop and took the first trip he could make to assist the boys with the very Horseman Pestilence.

Only just a few nights ago he couldn’t help but think bitterly of Dean and Sam when they had the bunker all to themselves, lounging in comfort while he stalked the streets in search of a safe place to sleep- in search of even an edible morsel of  _ something _ to eat so he wouldn’t starve to death.

He shook his head to clear those thoughts.

He’d already forgiven Dean for that. He understood the circumstances of the Angels forming a threat for the brothers- especially Sam whom had suffered the effects of the trials. Ezekiel had been able to heal him- though Castiel had just found out that the Angel had died in the fall...He understood Dean’s position and promised he’d never hold that unbearable moment against him. 

But being here now in that same position dredged up dark memories. 

He frowned, worked his hands together for warmth and struggled to stand. His arms trembled with the effort and the sudden weight of his vessel- body- while blood continued to drip from his wounds. Their flow had grown sluggish, but Castiel wasn’t too well defined on how wounds were supposed to work on a human body. All he knew was pain, dizziness, and the inconvenient amount of time it took for them to heal.

He held himself steady with his hand tightly gripping the wall as he shifted in his pockets in search for anything. A phone!

He gripped it tight and lifted it towards his face in hopes that the batteries were still useful in some way. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d put it to charge. 

His heart hammered and skipped a beat when he found it at a meesley 6%.

Just enough.

Just enough.

He found the number quickly in his contact list and dialed it. It rang once, twice, three times before falling towards voicemail.

“Please…” He quickly found himself saying.

He dialed the number again with a horrified glance towards the battery power that had dropped a good two percent in the single call.

He tried again.

It rang once, twice-

“Hello? Cas?”

The relief flooding through his veins shocked him into an exasperated sigh at the immediate answer.

“Cas?” It sounded desperate now and in need for a response from said Angel. 

Castiel cleared his throat and willed his trembling, chapped lips to speak. “D-Dean.”

“Cas, what happened? Where are you, man?”

“I-I’m…” where was he. He glanced around for a street address, a name of a place, anything that would help his friend find him. There was nothing, just bare walls and bare ground. He couldn’t move any more than where he was. His body hurt too much. “Dean, I don’t know- an alley- Dean, Ezekiel is dead.”

“You-Okay? Cas, what happened?!” 

The phone beeped its distinct sound and Castiel knew with growing horror what that meant, but he’d gotten his message across. Why had he even called Dean? He understood the situation he was in, tracked by every Angel of Heaven. 

“Dean, I’m so-sorry.” His voice broke. “I didn’t mean to call- just needed- to get the message to you- whichever Angel healed Sam, it-it wasn’t Ezekiel-.”

It was getting so cold.

His teeth chattered uncontrollably.

But Dean’s voice seemed to grow in urgency suddenly. “It’s Okay, Cas. Don’t worry, we already got that covered. Stay where you are. Me and Sam-”

His voice cut off instantly. Castiel desperately tapped at the phone screen in hopes to bring it back to life, but it stubbornly stayed how it was.

In one last effort, he worked his way to seating himself back onto the cold floor and re-wrapped his arms over his chest. The cold was biting and ruthless. 

He no longer had his coat and for some reason couldn’t remember where it had gotten to. It was so dark he could hardly see what his body looked like- could barely see even his own hands in the dim street lamp lights. What happened that he couldn’t recall a single thing? 

He curled his fingers in front of his mouth and exhaled on them, taking as much warmth as he could from his own breath.

Everything was so confusing. It was hard to concentrate on a single thing when so much was racing through his mind.

The last thing Castiel remembered was hearing where Metatron might be, where his Grace might be even. The rumor had spread remarkably amongst Angel Radio, but Castiel had rushed into it; taking the lead and grasping it like a frenzied, dying man on his last legs of life.  He was warded against Angels, but they had still sought him out and found him with ease. Malachi was more than thrilled to have him, tortured him, assumed he’d be the key to bringing Angels back to Heaven.

And Muriel was dead.

But no other memory would come to mind. He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around how he’d gotten out and what had happened to all the other Angels.

_ Why did I call Dean? _

The Angels were no doubt searching every state and street and building that he could be in. Castiel was a beacon for trouble and he would only bring it directly to the boys now. So why did he call?

Most likely to hear Dean’s voice, to give him his final message before…

Castiel pushed himself back up to his feet, his back harsh against the brick wall, the air growing denser than it had been previously- the weight of gravity pulling his feet to the earth. Everything felt all encompassing after the one chance he had to getting Grace back.

“No…” He mumbled to himself. “Need to…”

He needed to get somewhere else, someplace safe where Dean wouldn’t be able to find him and neither would the Angels. He couldn’t return to his motel room now that they knew where he lived. He needed to find somewhere else.

He needed to-

 

\----

 

“Cas? Cas!”

His eyelids fluttered and struggled to reopen. Someone was shaking his shoulders, forcing him to wake up. But consciousness was difficult to find. Waking and facing the real world after being in the dark for so long was almost impossible.

But Dean was there. He was calling out for him, grasping the side of his face with one hand while the other rested at the nape of his neck.

The little warmth cascading from him was enough to lull Castiel back to sleep. However, as soon as his body appeared to gain weight in its exhaustion, Dean renewed his attempts to wake the ex-angel. 

Castiel snapped his eyes open with a surprised gasp at the sting to his cheek and realized sluggishly that he’d been slapped. The dried cut on his lip dribbled blood once more.

And Dean was there. His green eyes glimmering more than possible in the darkened alley. Castiel was entranced by their color and smiled softly.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Dammit, Cas.” Dean forced him to sit up, providing a stable hand at his back and the other at his cheek.

He unconsciously turned his cheek towards the warmth and hummed. “Why are you here?” A shudder ran through him.

“Don’t give me that. What the hell happened to you? You’re freaking freezing, dude.”

_ What…. Oh… _

He grasped the man’s forearm and looked behind his form to catch a glance of Sam. The younger brother stood precariously, flashlight in hand where it visibly trembled. He seemed alright. The last Castiel had seen from the effects of the trials, he’d looked barely able to stand, heavy bags littering his eyes. He could only assume that he himself appeared just as bad now. Sleeping was difficult even with a bed. Working at the Gas-n-Sip was only enough to cover the expense to his motel room and then whatever else went towards his never ending need for food. Food was in no means cheap-

“Cas.” Dean muttered softly. “You with us?”

He nodded. “Yes.” And then his brain worked around questions he wanted to ask- forgetting apparently about where he was and in what condition he was in. There were so many questions he wanted to ask Dean. He was here now, he needed to ask them before he disappeared again.

“Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“W- how do you remove blood stains?” He knew his clothes were drenched in his own blood at this point. And bringing them to the Laundry place would bring up too many questions. 

“What?” Dean asked incredulously.

“I tr-tried before. How do you do it?”

These were the only other clothes he had. He couldn’t afford to buy another set.

“Dean.” Sam called for his brother behind him. “Think we should get him to the car.”

“No shit.” 

Castiel felt himself being lifted. He tried to help, to get his feet moving in order to alleviate some of the weight his friend was carrying, but his body sagged lifelessly instead. His attempts drew a keen of pain from his lips when the wounds that had been frozen over began to spill again.

“God, sorry.” Dean mumbled and renewed his efforts to pull the angel towards the Impala. Sam shuffled over quickly and grabbed at his other arm, wrapping it over his neck just like his brother had done. 

It took some strength, uttered reassurances at the sudden gasps, and dragging dress shoes before they finally reached the car.

The brothers placed Castiel in the back seat, lying him down as comfortably as possible as they took the front- the roar of the Impala already starting up.

Dean looked at the angel behind him. He was shivering more than he thought possible with the heater now on.

But he wasn't exactly sure how long he'd been passed out in the cold for. It took them an hour to get to him. He could've been passed out the entire time.

Dean removed his coat and then his flannel shirt and dropped it precariously over Castiel.

He shifted the car into gear and sped off though the night road.

 

**\------**

The next time he woke up, the car was still humming at a steady pace. The sounds from the Impala itself and the soft rock playing at the lowest volume were so comforting that Castiel almost assumed he was back in his own heaven. In the park where kites flew and birds sung to the morning wind. He thought he was back in the dream of the autistic man who drowned in his bathtub. 

But the memories came flowing back in a cascade of bubbles, choking him and forcing him to sit up with a startled jerk. The pain the movement caused was harsh and unbearable. He regretted ever deciding to move like that, but grit his teeth to keep the inevitable cry from escaping his lips. 

Castiel bent forward- trying his best to alleviate the pressure on his wounds- and unconsciously grabbed at a shoulder, not realizing that he hadn’t grabbed the seat in front of him as he’d intended to.

“Hey,” Dean called.

It was his shoulder that he grabbed.

Castiel pulled back his hand and instead rested it where he had tried to in the first place. The leather upholstery beneath his hand came away red and he swallowed nervously at the sight.

“Sorry, Dean.” He murmured. “I-I seem to have gotten blo-blood on your car…”

Sam glanced at his brother nervously, but Dean only nodded in understanding. 

“No worries. Your wounds still bleeding?” 

The ex-angel glanced down, his brain still surprised over the lack of anger that the hunter should’ve shown. A look at his injuries confirmed his suspicions. 

“They… appear to be bleeding profusely. I think.” He wasn’t too well-versed on how human injuries worked yet.

“Dammit.”

In a second, the car pulled over to the side of the road and Dean was immediately leaping out of the driver’s side.

Sam and Castiel held their positions, utterly dumbfounded at the car’s veering and the antics of its driver. However, the younger brother laughed incredulously when the Impala’s keys were thrown his way and he was being shoved towards the driver’s seat.

Castiel gripped his knees with sweaty palms and scooted across the seat when Dean made his way to sit in the back with him. Sam already pulled the car into reverse and returned its tires onto the back country road. The hunter and the angel sat awkwardly in the seat, watching as the scenery passed by. There was hardly a thing to see though, only whatever was lit up in front of them by the Impala’s headlights.

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, closed his mouth and then opened it again before stopping when Dean cleared his throat.

“So,” he cast his eyes over to Castiel’s own blues. “Can I check those cuts out or…”

The angel nodded nervously, unbuttoning his shirt with some effort and turned his torso to face the other. He kept his own eyes away from Dean or the wounds and glared down at his battered fingers instead. They were dirty and missing skin, his fingernails shaven down to the very tips where he’d dragged himself across concrete at one point- forcing his hands through rusted chains even.

He blinked in uncertainty for a moment. He wasn’t sure how he’d remembered that bit of information, but somehow he did.

Dean seemed to notice a change in Castiel’s expression and for a moment he looked up, catching his eyes. “Cas, buddy, you okay?”

The angel followed his friend’s gaze, realizing the worry that marked his face and quickly shook his head in reassurance. 

“I’m fine.”

Dean took a minute longer, assessing the angel before returning to meticulously eye the littered wounds on his chest, abdomen, neck. There were cuts, scrapes, and stabs in just about every inch of his body. The blood had stopped pooling from most of them, but the largest wound- a stab just at the base of his right shoulder and dragging down towards his forearm- leaked the most. Almost as if the wound had been reopened at one point.

The hunter glanced worriedly at his brother in the rearview mirror. Sam caught his stare and flashed him a concerned look before returning to watching the road. 

“Cas.” Sam called.

Castiel looked up, his eyes falling towards Dean and then landing quickly to where Sam sat.

“You alright? You think you can make it another hour?”

The angel furrowed his brow, confusion dripping along his expression and his head cocked slightly to the side. 

“You’re bleeding a lot, buddy.” Dean provided.

When Castiel flicked his blue gaze at him, his heart stuttered a moment. His eyes looked so unfocused, his skin pale- and the more he looked, he noticed the beads of sweat dotting his forehead and upper lip. He looked exhausted. His body continued to twitch and shiver from the residual cold, his hair sticking out and to his skin.

“Hey.”

Castiel blinked, his eyes still locked on his friends’.

“Do you want us to stop? At-at a motel or something? The bunker’s not another-”

“No.” 

Castiel looked away from him now. His arms unconsciously pulling to wrap around his torso in a sort of comfort. The single word was strong, barely quavering or cracking from his chapped lips. His face, however, the look in his eyes even looked terrified beyond reason. He withdrew himself from Dean’s reaching hand in that moment, placed himself closer against the door of the Impala- so close it looked as if he were trying to meld through it. He appeared as though he were trying to hide himself from the occupants in the car and become one with the vehicle instead. He looked as though he couldn’t bare to be in that situation any longer.

Dean frowned. The actions from such a creature- an angel- a multi-dimensional being of Celestial intent- no, a man- absolutely broke his heart. 

Castiel was trying to escape from the hunters if his skittish behavior had anything to say about it. He was pulling his legs closer to himself, catching his shoe on the bottom of the chair and gasping in fear because of it. 

He felt trapped. He felt like there was no escape and Dean was devastated.

He knew the feeling. Knew it from when Sam had been held in the clutches of Lucifer himself. From when Bobby lay in a hospital bed and there was nothing he could do for it. The moment he watched his best friend reject his hand at freedom from purgatory. When he was threatened to either tell Cas to leave the bunker or let his baby brother die.

Dean nodded frantically, moving his hands away from the cowering man and sat precariously on the edge of the seat. “Okay. Okay, Cas. We're going home.”

Castiel didn't want to risk being left alone again. He didn't want to suddenly wake up in a motel room patched up but alone. Dean knew that much.

Castiel didn't want to be forced to fend for himself like the last time.

“Sammy.” He glanced over to the rearview mirror where Sam looked quickly. “Pass me my duffel, will you? I'm gonna have to patch ‘im up right here.”

The only reason there was even first aid in the passenger seat in the first place was because the brothers weren't sure what they would've been walking into. Dean was thankful for his little brother's quick thinking with that.

“We gotta… um… gotta stitch you up I think, buddy.” 

The stab looked horrible now that Dean could see it better. Every other injury seemed relatively fine compared to it. Just antiseptics and butterfly bandages needed there.

But the stab. It would definitely need to be sewn shut and checked on continuously. 

With a sigh, the hunter pulled a pouch of gauze from the bag his brother handed him and immediately set to work cleaning off the injuries.

A bottled water was perfect to clear away the dried blood. Even coatings of peroxide and gauze followed and Dean taped them up quickly.

Castiel had been doing fine throughout the whole ordeal save for the few whimpers and flinches in between.

Dean was in no way looking forward to stitching the deepest of the wounds. His friend had been through so much and what he really deserved in this point in time was rest and a good serving of food. 

_ None of that chick stuff Sammy likes to eat. _

Real food.

The angel’s ribs were so pronounced that Dean wasn't sure whether he should be concerned or not.

_ Did he ever eat? _

Seemingly following Dean’s train of thought, Castiel took hold of the flannel shirt he'd been thrown earlier and wrapped it over himself. He released a sigh at the sudden warmth that engulfed him and leaned back against the Impala door. Dean still hanging precariously beside him. 

“Okay…” the hunter finally said. “Stitching’s gonna have to wait ‘till we're back at the bunker. How long, Sammy?”

“Uh… soon.” he glanced back through the rearview mirror again. “Cas, you sure we shouldn't stop the night at a motel?”

“No.”

Dean had cut him off. The moment the angel had lifted his head to answer, Dean spoke the word first. The sinking feeling in his gut wanted Castiel to know that he understood what the situation was. Also, he didn't want the angel panicking all over again.

“Bunker, Sam. The guy can wait a little longer.”

It was another set of minutes drowned in silence before Castiel shifted in his seat. Dean watched him with a worried eye just in case.

“Sam.”

Sam glanced at the mirror.

“Did you know about Ezekiel?”

Dean swallowed nervously all of a sudden. With all the worrying he was doing over his friend, he had all but forgotten about the recent events with his brother.

Sam didn't even take a moment to look his way, however. “Yeah. Died in the fall apparently. Dean already told me.” His voice grew bitter, but returned to normal with another glance at the angel. “Uh… another angel healed me. But don't worry, we already took care of that. Get some sleep, Cas.”

“But, Sam, which angel? I find it hard to believe-”

“Sleep.” It was Dean this time. His tone was quick and cutting; strictly business. “We'll talk about it later.”

Grudgingly, Castiel nodded and pulled the flannel tighter over himself, resting his head against the window and car seat as he shut his eyes.

 

**\-----**

When he woke up- which it seemed he’d been doing a lot of recently- the first things he noticed was the softness on and under him as well as the warmth that encompassed his previously frozen limbs. Either way, he was glad for the momentary comfort before his brain began to frantically process what had happened to him. 

Castiel remembered the biting oncomings of snowfall, pain, fear… he remembered the Angels and everything that had happened prior to Muriel’s death. He could recall the sharp edges of a knife and metal clamped around his ankles and wrists. The pain was intense, but the feeling of betrayal was stronger.

His brothers tortured him. There was no other way to put it. 

But, in a corner of his foggy mind, Castiel had to wonder whether he deserved it. Because, after what he’d done, even if Metatron  _ had _ tricked him, the Angels had every right to hate him. They had every right to hurt him in order to re-open Heaven through whatever means necessary. He held no fault against them.

Everything. Everything was due to his own inability to tell when he was being deceived. Due to his desperate need to solve a problem he had no right attempting to solve. Because every time he tried to “fix” something, he destroyed it in the end.

Beside him, a voice hummed and he nearly leaped out of himself because of it. 

Dean was next to him, sitting in what looked to be an extremely uncomfortable wooden chair. His hands wrapped around a device, earphones on. 

He was listening to music and suddenly Castiel was curious. He needed a distraction from the thoughts tormenting his head. He needed something to take his mind off of the long hours of torment and the weeks he spent on the streets in hunger and pain-

He pushed himself into a sitting position on the bed- trying his best not to alert the hunter to his movements- reached over and pulled an earphone out of Dean’s ear to put it in his own. 

With a jerk, Dean’s eyes snapped open. He was about to move away, not realizing where he was for a moment before he did.

Castiel already had the earphone in, his blue eyes spilling out more emotions than Dean could process. But their eyes were locked and the song continued to flow between the two.

What seemed another minute before the song finally ended, Castiel pulled himself wearily back onto the bed and heaved a breath. He handed the earphone back to Dean which he easily accepted and put the mp3 away onto the nightstand beside him. 

Dean opened his mouth in an attempt to ask how the Angel was doing, but was interrupted when said Angel spoke instead.

His eyes returned to the hunter and he smiled. Dean could tell the smile was only for reassurance and was not genuine in the least. “What song was that?”

“Uh… November Rain. Guns N’ Roses.”

“The melody was lovely.” Castiel responded wistfully.

But Dean was confused. Why were they talking about music all of a sudden? Not more than four hours ago did he and Sam find the Angel laying in an alley in his own blood. But Castiel didn’t seem to be in any pain- though that could be due to the morphine they thankfully had on hand in the bunker. The morphine that they had stolen from a hospital- anyway, he was in a lot of pain then, but he was mostly unconscious. The fact that he was so calm now was astounding. There was a heavy sadness in his eyes, however. It was the strongest emotion Dean could see pooling in his blue iris’ and he suddenly couldn’t stand to see it there anymore. 

“Hey.”

Castiel turned his eyes back towards him from where they stayed staring at a blank wall. 

“You hungry?”

He froze a moment, not understanding the question at first before nodding.

“Yes. A little.”

From what Dean had seen when he’d been forced to get Cas into clean, dry clothes, he was more than “a little” hungry. The image of protruding ribs and no longer lean muscles would forever haunt his mind. 

How much had he been eating? Did he actually live somewhere decent enough just by working at a gas station?

These thoughts crowded Dean’s mind like never before. Only now that he had seen Castiel so vulnerable was when he remembered how human the Ex-Angel really was. How human and how fragile after being an all-powerful being for what might have been a milenia. 

He did everything that led to this point- all of it for the Winchesters. All of it for Dean Winchester.

“How ‘bout a sandwich? Water?”

Castiel nodded in uncertainty, confusion lacing his face. Dean took this as his cue to leave and he made his escape with a final pat to his friend's knee.

 

In the kitchen, finally alone with his thoughts, Dean leant against the counter and wiped a hand down his brow to his chin. Everything was going downhill for them. For both Sam and Dean. 

The Angels falling, the Trials, Crowley gone, Abaddon all of a sudden being a thing. 

Sam was still healing after the mess that was Gadreel who apparently wasn’t Ezekiel in the first place. Kevin was mad at the two of them and disappeared, presumably to look for his mom, and Charlie was off the radar at the moment.

Dean got to making that sandwich he promised Castiel- needing his hands to do something lest he chug several beers and throw them at the wall in the process.

“Goddammit.”

“Cas doing alright?”

Dean spun all the way around, nearly dropping the plate with the sandwich on it in the process. Sam was standing warily at the doorway, his hair still disheveled from sleep.

“You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Yeah. But I’m fine, Dean.” Sam turned his head questioningly to the sandwich, his brother’s face, and back around towards the door leading to the dorms. “So…”

“He’s fine. Just hungry.”

Dean really didn’t want to talk to his brother right now. There was still an undeniable tension between the two and he couldn’t stand talking to him and sometimes seeing flickers of distrust in his eyes. Not entirely forgiving him. Though, Dean doubted he would ever be forgiven after tricking his brother into allowing an Angel to possess him. 

And then Cas.

_ Guy probably hates my frickin’ guts. Probably waiting for me to pull a Julius Caesar and straight up stab ‘im. _

“He doesn’t hate you.”

Dean pulled himself from his head. “What?”

“He doesn’t, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s still Cas.”

Dean blinked.

“Honestly,” Sam stepped into the kitchen and pulled out two beers from the fridge. “I don’t think he ever really blamed you for anything. If it’s Cas anyway, he already forgave you a long time ago.”

“And what about you?” Dean attempted.

Sam stared, his eyes boring into his brother’s but giving no emotion- not even a flicker. He handed Dean a bottle and headed for the library.


	2. Worried, my friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel may not be doing so well and clearly Dean is more than a little bit worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a piece I've been writing for the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge and i'll be posting the fic in its entirety here.  
> I plan to finish this by the end of the month, but life has a way of screwing us over.  
> Wish me luck!

It was another week before Castiel was finally able to walk freely around the bunker without Dean or Sam’s help. The slashes on his legs were healing nicely, no signs of infection whatsoever. The only injuries that gave him an issue were the gashes on his abdomen, the stab wound, and the scrapes all along his fingertips. 

Though they weren’t the largest wounds, they hurt the most and throbbed constantly. The burning sensations when he touched anything were worse and he tried his best not to pick anything up because of it. 

Dean assured him that they were supposed to hurt like that and would only get worse before they got better. Castiel was not looking forward to that.

There were no hunts. No cases that Sam had looked into or even Dean for that matter- the most restless of the two. He’d insisted that they both rest and heal and only then would they look for another string of disturbances to solve. For now, they spent the day watching Netflix and occasionally stepping outside for food and fresh air. Sam spent most of his time in the library cataloging the Men of Letters’ research to sate his need to search for cases. They’d concluded that if there was a case, another hunter could take care of it. The Winchesters weren’t the only ones that should have to solve every problem they came across. 

For now, they were on vacation. No matter how little of an actual “vacation” it turned out to be.

 

A little over a week cooped up in the bunker proved to be too much for Sam eventually. He found an easy to handle solo case and conceded that he was doing far better than he’d been now that his body had time to heal properly after Gadreel was ejected.

It had taken Dean over an hour to convince, but in the end Sam was packing a hunting bag with food, weapons, and anything else he might need. He’d taken the keys, taken the luck his brother and friend sent his way, and took off with an extra car from the garage. 

The case was an hour away from Lebanon in Bostwick, Nebraska thankfully. Dean was grateful for that and found himself worrying less after finding out that it was also a simple hunt for a haunted object.

Sam promised to keep him updated on his progress and made sure to do just that- texting:

**_Sam-_ ** _ Here in Nebraska. _

**_Dean-_ ** _ Don’t forget to ask for a tenderloin sandwhich you sasquatch. _

**_Sam-_ ** _ Haha. Funny. _

Dean put down his phone, running his thumb over the screen for a moment before turning it over and leaving it on the table. He’d been sitting in the kitchen waiting for a reply from his brother for the past hour that he had forgotten all about Cas’.

_ Nice job, Dory. _

With a resigned step, he made his way for the Angel’s room. Knowing him, he was probably watching  _ The Twilight Zone _ again. Not that Dean was complaining. It was a damn good show and he really wished Cas would wait for him before he started watching an entire season in a day.

The Netflix binging was honestly getting a little out of hand at this point and the hunter was feeling a bit worried about it. He never expected Cas to be the one who’d be clicking  _ continue watching  _ after being asked  _ Are you still there? _

_ Jesus. _

With a knock, Dean alerted the Angel of his presence  before opening the bedroom door.

Castiel was there as always, his back leaning against the headboard of his bed and a fleece blanket wrapped over himself. The borrowed ACDC shirt strikingly apparent on his pale skin. He barely acknowledged Deans presence, only giving a nod, before setting his eyes back on the laptop. Dean’s laptop. 

“How’s everything going in here, buddy? Anyone get trapped in a government experiment yet?”

Castiel squinted his eyes as if to think and then shrugged. “Yes. One man, in fact. He was alone in the world and expectantly went insane in the end.”

“Alone?”

“He was being tested to see whether he could survive with no one but himself. He talked to his own reflection.”

“Ah.”

Dean shuffled his feet uncomfortably where he stood. “Mind if I…” he gestured to one side of the bed.

“Watch the show with me?” Cas finished.

“Yeah.”

In response, the Angel scooted over on the bed and made room for Dean to which he immediately took.

The air grew stagnant the moment Dean sat down. Both men hardly moving or making any noise- the _Twlight zone_ theme being the only sound in the bedroom.

To say the least, it was extremely awkward. For Dean, at least, who didn't do well with discussing feelings or helping someone else overcome their own. But he’d decided a while back that he needed to talk to his friend. Find out what happened to him the night he called. Castiel had given bare hints of information- stealing Grace, the mojo immediately wearing off, escaping what was presumably a torture; though he never said exactly what the Angels wanted from him.

Also, Sam insisted he go on a hunt so they would have time to talk alone.

_ Dammit, Sammy. _

“Cas.” Dean glanced at him, immediately turning his head back towards the laptop after seeing that he was listening.

“You… wh- I need to talk. We need-” He swallowed. “Goddammit.” He reached over and closed the computer; the sounds of the show immediately muting once it was shut. 

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “What’s wrong, Dean?”

And then he was shaking. Castiel, Angel of the Freakin’ Lord, was shaking. He wasn’t cold, he had a blanket and it was actually pretty warm in the bunker even if it was snowing outside. He was shaking.

When Dean turned his way to catch a glimpse at the Angel, his stomach instantly sank like a rock. 

Castiel was terrified. Whether he realized it or not, his entire face was morphed into a furrow, lips trembling, and eyebrows worried. His eyes watering over at the corners.

Dean opened his mouth to quickly explain to Cas what he was trying to say, but he was beat to it.

“I- I can help with hunts. I could go help Sam if need be.” He blinked several times and cleared his throat. “I know how to clean guns. I-know I may not be an Angel anymore… but I can help.”

Oh.

That’s what this was about.

“Cas. What?” It was like his tongue was swollen to the roof of his mouth suddenly. The words feeling like molasses- thick and stuck. 

But Castiel kept going. In a desperate manner he spoke, trying his best to come up with reasons for him to help. Ways that he could be useful and purposefulness he had even though he didn’t have the powers his Grace had given him like he used to. “Dea- Dean, I can-”

“Hold on. Buddy, calm down.”

He didn’t want to be kicked out again, Dean realized.

_ He doesn’t want to be thrown out onto the street. _

“You’re scared.”

Cas didn’t say anything.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face and then at the back of his neck; trying to find the right words to say. “I wasn’t gonna kick you out, man.”

But Castiel looked disbelieving. 

“I wasn’t-just wanted to talk, man.” And his voice grew in volume. He needed to fix this now or never because they way his friend’s mind was racing, he probably assumed he was going to be kicked out and not have a choice again. 

_ Not happening. _

“I’m not telling you to leave. You don’t even have to help with hunts or shit. You- you just keep doing what you’re doing and heal up, okay?”

Dean, no matter how many times he berated himself about it because-  _ this is not what friends do! _ -placed both of his hands on either side of Cas’ face, forcing him to look his way. Forcing that awkward eye contact that showed both of them every single emotion they hid and could only be seen in the closest way possible. He needed Castiel to focus on him. He needed the Angel to look into his soul even if he physically couldn’t anymore. 

“Cas.”

They were so close. Staring at each other as if their lives depended on it. 

Dean’s hands grew firmer around Castiel’s face and held him steady when he felt the man twitch beneath his fingers; as if attempting to run off.

“No. Cas, that’s not happening. You hear me.”

Castiel nodded ever so slowly, seemingly afraid that now it might be Dean to run away.

But he wouldn’t. Not right now.

“You’re staying here.”

“And if Sam is in danger again?”

“Then we’ll figure something else out. You’re not going anywhere.”

If the expression he held on his face wasn’t enough to convince the Angel, he’d find some other way. Not in a million years would he let Cas think he was useless, not after everything he’d done to help them someway- no matter how horrible those instances turned out in the end.

The incredible heat beneath Dean’s hands shocked him out of his thoughts. Castiel was burning up, his face entirely clammy and hot. His eyes no longer giving off that occasional otherworldly light, but translucent and filmy now. He looked sick and felt it too.

“Hey, buddy, I think you got a fever.”

Castiel brought a hand to touch himself and frowned. “The heat you mean?”

_ He doesn’t even know what a fever is. Poor guy. _

“Yeah.” He ran his hands up to Cas’ temples and around to the nape of his neck and then his forehead. “Definitely a fever.”

Making a swift decision, he got up from the bed and forced Cas onto his back, removing the fleece blanket and replacing it with a thinner one.

“But Dean-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just trust me, okay? Fever’s gonna make you cold but you gotta keep your temp down or you’re not gettin’ any better.”

Castiel squinted his eyes, thinking, but conceded to obey orders.

“I’ll be back with some Advil and whatever else I find around this place.”

 

**\-----**

Castiel wasn’t getting better. As a matter of fact, his fever skyrocketed in a few hours.

Dean was running back and forth between rooms every few minutes with ice, towels, buckets of water; anything to get the fever down, but none of it worked. He’d tried an ice bath like he did with Sam at several points when his fever got so bad. The bath brought down the fever significantly from 103° to 101°. And then it leaped back up in a few minutes to 104°. Now, Dean was panicking.

He read that a fever of 102° was enough to bring someone to the ER and 107° could cause organ failure.

But Cas wasn’t exactly human. If they found even a trace of Grace in him or something “supernatural” what would happen then?

He couldn’t risk losing his friend.

But leaving the fever to get so high, he’d lose him either way.

He dialed Sam’s number on his phone, tapping his foot nervously as he waited for his brother to pick up. 

He was standing outside of Castiel’s room, the door still slightly ajar in case he needed anything while Dean was trying to get ahold of his brother.

“Come on, come on.”

The phone clicked.

“Dean? What’s up?”

The relief was so apparent in Dean that he almost forgot what he called to ask his brother in the first place.

“Sam? Sammy, how do you get a fever down?”

“A- what?” He said a quick  _ excuse me _ to someone in the background before presumably walking away. “Is it Cas?”

“Yeah. Y- yeah. I tried everything. He’s not getting better. It’s getting worse. What do I do?”

“Okay, calm down.” He took a second to think. “You tried an ice bath already?”

“Like twenty minutes ago.”

“How high is it?”

“Basically 104°.”

“Shit. You gotta take him to the hospital.”

_ I know, I know, but how? _

“Sam, you know we can’t. He said he got some mojo from some other Angel. What if it’s still in his system and-”

“Okay.” Sam cut him off. “Calm down. Did you check his wounds? Maybe one’s infected or something.”

“Yeah.”

How did Dean not think about that?

“Okay, I’ll check. You almost done over there?”

“Pretty much. Take care of Cas. I’ll be there in a few hours.”

“‘Kay.”

_ Check Cas. _

Dean tucked the phone into his back pocket and made his way into the bedroom. Castiel was still lying there, sweat plastering his dark locks of hair to his forehead and his hands tightly gripping the bed sheets beneath him. He was the definition of miserable at the moment.

His eyes trailed their way towards Dean as soon as he walked into the room.

“W- was that Sam?”

“Yeah.” Dean said. “Gotta check something, buddy.”

“Is he alright?”

Of course. Even when the Angel was beyond sick, hurting and in complete discomfort, he still worried about the brothers and not himself.

_ Team Free Will and our self-sacrificing bullshit. _

“He’s fine.”

Dean sat at the edge of the bed, instructing Castiel to lift his shirt, checking the wounds there and then the ones on his arms and legs. But they seemed to be healing fine.

“My fingers are burning, Dean.”

“Not the other stuff?”

“No, they seem fine… are you looking for infection?”

“Yup. Anything other than a fever, Cas?”

He squinted his eyes and tilted his head slightly. “I’m not sure.” He flexed his hands and looked at his fingers. They were wrapped in bandages; his fingertips had been sliced beyond recognition. 

Something about slipping chains off a door and fighting his way to climb over a chain-link fence. His hands had gone through the works and had been slathered in as much Neosporin as possible.

_ Wait. _

“Cas, lemme see your hands.”

“What?”

“Your hands.” Without waiting for the Angel to comply, Dean took hold of his hands and unwrapped the bandages on his left hand- the one with the most cuts. 

“I think-”

His fingers.

_ Oh my god. _

The moment they were uncovered, Dean needed to take a breath, a double-take, in order to comprehend what exactly it was that he was seeing. The wounds weren’t healing at all. In fact, they looked infected- beyond infected. The skin around each cut was mottled, brown and gaping a hole like he’d never seen before. Castiel’s fingers were swollen and lined with splatters of blood and bruising. Nothing about his fingers looked like an average infection. Dean knew what it had to be, but was too scared to see it for what it was.

He swallowed. “C-Cas. Those chains ‘n stuff. What you cut your fingers on. Did they look rusted? Old maybe?”

His blue eyes stared at Dean for what felt like a minute- his brain processing memories in the background. He blinked. “I think so. They were rather old, I think. It  _ was _ a warehouse they were using.”

“Shit.”

His eyes blew wide then in fear. “W-what is it?”

“Goddammit.” Now Dean was mad at himself. He should’ve seen this before. Should’ve realized it when the fever wasn’t going down and neither was the pain in Castiel’s hands.

This was all his fault for not paying attention to how Cas’ healing process was going. It was his fault for not even thinking about the possibility in the first place and instead trying to sort through the mess that was his feelings.

“Dean.”

He looked back at the Angel, snapping out of accusing himself for everything. He needed to take care of this  _ now _ .

“Tetanus.”

“What? Dean, what is that?” He wiped the sweat beading down his brow and laid back down on the bed as if a new wave of pain hit him.

“You ever get a shot for it?”

“Not that I’m aware… Jimmy may have at some point…”

_ Right. But Jimmy’s been dead for how long exactly? And an Angel doesn’t typically need human shots... _

Castiel wouldn’t have gone to get shots if his vessel didn’t require it. But without Angel mojo, he was susceptible to basically anything.

“Okay. Cas, we’ll figure this out.”

“Dean. Is it bad?”

_ It could really freakin’ be. _

“Nah, man.” Dean reassured. “You’ll be fine.” Really, he was trying to convince himself at the most. Castiel didn’t know any better about people and how fragile the immune system could actually be. Dean, on the other hand, had done enough research on a whole list of possible infections, symptoms, and ways to cure it. Just in case one of them ever got hurt on a hunt. They took enough precaution, but they forgot to take the Angel into account- mainly forgetting that he couldn’t exactly fix anything with a touch of his fingers anymore.

Swiftly, leaving a hand to rest on Cas’ shoulder, Dean pulled out his phone and hurriedly dialed his brother’s number. There was no way he would be able to step out of the bunker himself for a run into town if the Angel was already this bad- and it could get worse.

“Yeah?”

“Sam. Tetanus.”

There was a choking sound over the line; like Sam had swallowed something down the wrong pipe. “Excuse me?”

“Cas’s got Tetanus.”

“Are you 100% sure?”

“Yeah. His fingers, Sammy. They’re…” he glanced worriedly at his friend. “...not healing like they should be.”

“You need me to go pick up some shots?” The way he said it, it wasn’t even a question. He knew how bad Tetanus could get and he’d already concluded to drop the hunt he was on and snatch what was needed before rushing back to the bunker.

“Yeah. Just get here as fast as you can, man.”

“Got it.”

The phone clicked off and Dean was left alone to his thoughts. Castiel grew silent, his shivering form and chattering teeth sparking worry in the hunter’s gut.

They needed to wait on Sam and  _ pray _ that the Angel would be alright.


	3. Staring at The Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some nightmares are worse when they come to reality. Castiel is seeing one happen before his eyes and Dean is on the cusp of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a piece I've been writing for the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge and i'll be posting the fic in its entirety here.
> 
> (I did NOT finish this within the month of November, but I still plan to continue it.)
> 
> Here's a short chapter.  
> And a cheer to many more.
> 
> Wish me luck!

There were dreams. And then there were nightmares. Nightmares corresponding with real life and everything surrounding his deepest, darkest fears. Things that would wake Castiel in the night nearly screaming his throat out or screaming so loudly that it became absolutely silent. When his voice eventually gave out in the end.

He was having another one, at the foot of the stairs, when the reminiscent sound of the heavy-set door opening made way into his senses. He woke with a start- and without realizing it- nearly shoved Dean off the stairs beside him.

“Hey! Hey, whoa there, buddy.” He placed his hands on either side of the Angel, holding him upright as Sam made his appearance.

He stopped mid-step, his arms loaded with plastic bags and his own hunting pack tossed over his shoulder. Sam stood where he was, catching sight of both men and immediately made work setting up the essential vaccine. He didn’t bother putting anything down, merely set the bags at his feet and clasped a hand around Castiel’s shoulder.

He pointedly gave Dean a look to which he easily nodded. 

“Cas, we got TDAP, the thing you need.” Dean said. “It’s okay.”

Castiel shook his head, trying to clear away the sudden fog there but ending up unsuccessful. The nausea reached his chest and he forced it back down.

He knew Dean was sitting next to him, could feel his warm hands cupping his face. Sam was a foot from him as well, kneeling in an extremely uncomfortable position too from what he could tell. 

They were both here with him. His brothers and sisters far from the bunker and unable to find him.

The bunker was heavily warded. Sigils marked each and every wall. This place was completely undetectable unless Sam and Dean were to make its whereabouts known. 

Not even Castiel was entirely sure where it was.

_ I don’t know… _

His hand found its way suddenly to Dean’s own and gripped it tightly. He had almost pulled away, seeing the shocked look on the hunter’s face, but didn’t when his hand was squeezed back. 

“Cas, you’re okay.”

Castiel nodded. Though horrified- unable to properly get his bearings- he trusted the brothers. They’d been through hell and back; both literally, for the past six years. He needed to trust them.

Faster than he could’ve ever flapped his wings, his shirt sleeve was pulled up and a needle was forced into his bicep before being removed a second later.

“There. All done,” Sam reassured him.

Castiel nodded once more. That was done with. The needle was gone and Dean was still grasping his hand tightly. If he thought any better, he would have assumed the hunter was trying to keep him grounded. Even though, he no longer had wings to try to make off with.

He looked at Dean then-

  
  


He woke up again, back in bed. This passing out to find himself under blankets later was getting old and definitely needed to stop.

But Dean was by his bed again. This time staring directly at him.

His eyes told stories of worry and exhaustion, yet his body was tense- as if preparing for a fight.

“Hello, Dean.” His voice cracked at the end and he attempted to clear away the tiresome tone with a cough. “What happened?”

“Shot. You're fine.” His voice was brisk, quick. “How 'bout you humor me, Cas? What the hell were you thinking? Where were you plannin’ on going, huh?!”

“Oh.”

Castiel understood now. “You're angry.”

“Really? I had no freakin’ idea, man.” 

They stared intently at each other for another moment before it was Castiel whom gave up. He turned his head away frantically and struggled to sit up. Dean was there to help lift his body up against the headboard. Surprisingly, the Angel had assumed he wouldn’t be getting any help for that.

He really was sorry for doing what he did. He hadn’t meant to be caught in the first place, but now that he had to stay here, he would have to face the consequences and the blunt end of Dean’s rage. The bitterness and the coldness that scared him more than anything.

Dean would show how much anger he had in the moment, escape the situation the next, and then ignore whatever caused the reaction in the first place.

“Dean, let me explain.” 

“Really?!” He shouted, his voice rising in volume and the tension in the air shifting to a palpable electric current. “I’m pretty sure I know what the fuck was going on, Cas. We just got you back and now you’re leaving again? That’s not happening, man. You’re not getting out of this that easily, ‘cuz I’m more than a hundred percent sure that I still don’t forgive you for leaving Sam and me to fend for ourselves. I resorted to tricking my own brother into letting an Angel possess him, find out you’re hitchin’ it with one of the winged assholes that were planning on killin’ you- tortured you according to that half-assed story you gave. I’m fucking pissed, Cas! You’re not walking out that door an’ disappearing again, you hear me?”

Castiel swallowed. Never in his long life had he felt so small when in reality he was bigger and older than anything Dean had ever seen. There was a fire in his eyes, the same that was there when Castiel had been “spying” on them. When he lied to the brothers while he struck a deal with Crowley. When he trusted the King of hell with his plans more than the humans in his charge.

“Well? This isn’t exactly a rhetorical question.”

Everything was spinning.

“Cas!”

He shook his head, trying to clear the spinning colors and odd shadows surrounding every object in the room. He tried to clear the terrifyingly red aura surrounding Dean. 

He wanted to see those brighter than green eyes glimmering. Wanted to hear him laugh. Wanted- wanted to feel his warm arms wrapped around his body.

“Cas?”


	4. Bright Blue Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean felt like everything could be alright again from such a small smile; that it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a piece I've been writing for the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge and i'll be posting the fic in its entirety here.
> 
> (I did NOT finish this within the month of November, but I still plan to continue it.)
> 
> Here's a short chapter.  
> And a cheer to many more.
> 
> Wish me luck!

Dean had messed up. Big time.

Currently, he was holding Castiel against his chest, helping him fight off a panic attack. Just trying to get him to breathe again.

“Cas?” He mumbled lower than he thought his voice could go. “Hey, buddy. It’s okay.”

He ran his hands down the man’s arms, trying any way he could to comfort him.

His breathing was ragged and way too fast, he needed to slow it down before he passed out.

Dean needed to fix this. He had to do something to right what he’d just done.

“Cas, c’mon.”

Castiel choked on a breath, pulled in a breath, shakily let one loose.

Dean slowed down his own breathing, keeping it calmer than his heart was currently pounding in his chest.

“Calm down.”

He wondered why he’d thought it would be a good idea to yell at him. In the situation he was in- in the state of health- it was a bad idea. But the pure, unadulterated rage had hit him so quickly he hadn’t been able to filter himself. Didn’t realize when to stop. Where to begin.

Castiel had calmed significantly at this point, but the grip he had on Dean’s henley was intense. His fingers curled as tight as they could around the fabric of the sleeves and his body trembled.

“Fuck, man. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t respond, of course.

_ Dumbass. _

“Okay. Let’s talk.”  _ He can’t right now. Probably doesn’t wanna anyway.  _ “I’ll talk.

Dean needed to fix this. Because  _ this _ \- this was definitely broken. He knew the Angel for a number of years now and not once had he seen him this weak and terrified before. 

“Cas.” He swallowed the nervousness in his voice, the shaking in his vocals. He didn’t do well with feelings or talking in general. But this was his best friend. His friend who was human for the first time in what had to be a millenia. “Hey, I… you know I’m not good with this Chick flick stuff.” He risked a glance at Cas, but could only see the nest of black hair that belonged to his friend’s head. He gave no indication that he was even listening, so Dean continued.

“Didn’t mean to yell at you, man. I just got so frustrated.” Subconsciously, he raked his hand down Castiel’s back. Mostly he did this to calm himself down. The anger was reaching its peak again and he tried his best to stifle it down.

“Look, Cas. Now that you’re human, you can’t go off an’-”

And without warning, he’d pulled himself away from Dean and fled the room- his footsteps echoing down the hall as he hurriedly made his escape.

Dean was left to himself, frozen in place where he sat, hands hovering where they had been holding Castiel a mere moment before. The warmth of the other’s body lingered.

 

Two days had gone and Castiel was still visibly avoiding Dean. He was horribly sick and he worried about the Angel’s health, but Sam had, of course, immediately reassured him. His brother had been doing the caregiving until the two of them made up.

“Dean, he just doesn’t want to see you right now.”

“Why not?” Dean asked, affronted.

“Just give him some time.” Sam gave him a soft smile. “Believe me, if I know the two of you as much as I do, you’re not staying mad for much longer. But Cas needs time to himself.”

Dean nodded. 

Not because he wholeheartedly agreed with his brother, but he didn’t have anything else to hold on to at the moment. They had just gotten Castiel back after everything that had gone down and was currently still happening. 

He couldn’t risk losing his best friend again.

 

Two days.

Castiel hadn’t talked to him for two days and at this point Dean was about to lose his mind. He was fine not being around his friend- though he missed him- for days or months on end, but only when he couldn’t actually get into contact with the Angel. With him barely a few rooms away and in the same building… he was at his breaking point now.

He needed to see Castiel. Needed to see that his friend was alright with his own eyes, not by Sam telling him so. He needed to apologize. Again.

Dean rubbed a hand through his hair and then down his face in exasperation. 

This was their problem. The brothers had always had trouble talking to each other and kept secrets. Now, Cas appeared to be following in their footsteps. The fact that he was hiding out proved just how deeply rooted the problem had gotten. 

“Okay.”

Making his decision, Dean climbed to his feet from where he was nursing a bottle of scotch and made his way for the Angel’s room. Sam had said that was the last place he’d been. Borrowing Sam’s laptop to keep his mind occupied while his body recovered. Reading books, too. Without pictures.

Dean shuddered.

In a moment, he was at the end of the hall, fist hovering over the door while he questioned whether he should knock or not. Knock to respect Cas’ privacy. Not- because he wasn’t sure whether he should attempt a discussion with him in the first place. The last time they had talked had been on bad terms. Dean yelled out of frustration over Castiel’s lack of consideration and the Angel, in turn, ran out on him out of his own emotional situation. 

So, here the hunter was, questioning his choices and considering if a conversation would be the best to have at the moment. 

It was decided for him the moment the door creaked open and he was forced to take a step backwards and away from its trajectory. 

Castiel stood on the other side, his eyes widening ever so slightly when he realized Dean was standing there. His hand flew to shut the door once again, but Dean was faster. He held the door with his booted foot to keep it from closing.

“Cas, wait.” He tried, his voice desperate now that he was seeing Castiel for the first time in days.

Those too blue eyes glanced up to catch Dean’s own. They wavered a moment before looking away. He was reasoning with himself, deciding if he should allow Dean into his room. Resignedly, quite visibly to Dean himself, Castiel’s face fell and his eyes clouded before he opened the door to allow him entrance.

Castiel kept his distance the entire time Dean walked in and settled himself at the foot of his friend’s bed. His unmade, crumple-sheeted, bed. In a fit of silence and tension, Dean stood back up and immediately began to fold the sheets, straighten them out and fluff what pillows he could find in the room. Several had been placed in corners and he found himself concerned about this- though he didn’t question their placement.

Cas continued to watch him the entire time, his body rigidly standing beside the closed door. For some reason, Dean suddenly found himself unable to look away for several moments. He settled for analyzing the man. Taking in the prominent stubble lining his cheeks and chin, the ruffled look to his hair and the shadows resting heavily on his eyes. His skin still had a slight feverish pallor to it, but not as horrible as it had been before. 

“Weird seeing you in sweatpants an’ a t-shirt, man.” He found himself saying out loud.

Cas blinked. He looked down at himself and raised his head again. “Would you prefer if I wore my Trench Coat again?”

“Nah, man. Looks good on you.”

Cas’ lips curved in the corners and his eyes glimmered once more. Dean felt like everything could be alright again from such a small smile; that it was enough.


	5. No Place in Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, his worst fears were realized when Cas looked back at him and there was terror in his eyes, but resignation at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a piece I've been writing for the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge and i'll be posting the fic in its entirety here.
> 
> (I did NOT finish this within the month of November, but I still plan to continue it.)
> 
> Here's a short chapter.  
> And a cheer to many more.
> 
> Wish me luck!

Dean was calm and reserved. He needed to be because of the look that was being sent his way. It made his stomach clench and his eyes burn. Dean didn’t cry, but seeing the emotion and the smile cast towards him was enough to make him feel powerfully affected. He missed that smile, those eyes. He missed everything about Castiel. The more he looked at him, in his decrepit state of healing, Dean felt a surge of guilt pool in his gut.

Cas was  _ healing _ because of him.

Cas was in this mess, sick and losing sleep all because of him.

He knew that Cas had stayed away partly due to his own unfortunate trust in “the scribe of God” and the downfall of every Angel in heaven. But, there was largely a portion in place because Dean had told him to stay away. Because Dean had, once again, left his best friend to suffer in order to protect his little brother. Because, when it came to the Winchesters, it was either or, never both. One needed to be sacrificed to keep the other safe. Dean had a hard time believing in fate seeing as how every year for the three of them everything turned out horribly wrong. But if this was the idea fate had for the brothers’ lineage, it played a pretty cruel trick. Plenty of them at this point.

Castiel coughed, drawing Dean’s attention back to his friend. 

“Dean, why are you here?” His voice was ragged and the smile had fallen.

The hunter frowned to himself.

“Dean.”

He cleared his throat and sat down- patting the bed beside him. 

Cas took a moment before accepting the seat, keeping his distance from Dean, however.

He grew downcast at this, but didn’t bother to mention it or do anything about it. He had the Angel’s attention and in the long run it was all that really mattered.

“So.” He wrung his hands together. “How are you… you doing better?”

Castiel nodded, his gaze somewhere further off than the room. “Yes. I think. Sam has been taking care of me.”

Dean cringed at that.

“Sorry, Cas.”

“No, I understand.” He quickly said. His eyes returned, but the unnatural paleness in them was disturbing. “I explained to Sam that I needed my time alone. I assumed you did as well.”

He hadn’t asked a question, but Dean found himself nodding in the affirmative. “Yeah…”

He swallowed the knot in his throat and turned his head to face Cas whom had yet to acknowledge him in the slightest. 

“But-”

Castiel turned, their eyes meeting. 

Dean swallowed back the dryness again. “Um… All that stuff I said before. I didn’t mean it.”

Cas’ eyes squinted and he tilted his head in the way Dean constantly found endearing if it were in any other circumstance. He dropped his own hands into his lap, mirroring the fidgeting that Dean was doing. And then sighed.

“I ran off as well, Dean.” He returned his eyes towards the end of the room, beads of sweat breaking out over his brow.

Dean had to keep himself from reaching out and tucking the man back into bed. They needed to talk and Castiel would hate being coddled if the last few days proved anything. He resorted to watching him in concern instead. 

“Being human… after being an Angel for as long as I have is difficult. My brothers and sisters fell, but they still have Grace and what little of their wings left.” Unconsciously, he reached back with a hand and rubbed at his shoulder- as if trying to feel something. Trying to feel his wings. “Their weight was a reassurance, but now that they are gone… I was desperate to have them back no matter how torn and tarnished they are.”

Dean couldn’t keep his eyes off of the Angel now. Seeing him so emotionally broken down was one of the hardest things he’d seen. It was the same feeling he had when Castiel wasn’t able to breathe- the night he’d run off. He was shocked where the conversation was going, nonetheless. 

But he would willingly listen for once.

Cas continued, his hand dropping back to his lap. “That was why I stole Theo’s Grace.”

“But it didn’t do anything?” Asked Dean.

“No.” He closed his eyes for a moment and looked towards Dean once more. “As soon as I took it, I felt that Grace swell in my ves- body. My wings were back for a moment and… it was as if another Angel had instantly swept it from me. I don’t know if you understand what I’m explaining, do you?”

Dean nodded in thought. “Like turning on a light and the power goes off the next second.”

“Yes. Exactly. Though much more complicated. I feel… different. It’s hard for me to feel joy knowing the feeling was there only for it to vanish so quickly. To have it sitting in me, but spreading nowhere and keeping me human.”

He got it. It made perfect sense, in a way. For an Angel to be stuck as a human. All the emotions and feelings he had to deal with all of a sudden-

“Wait.”

Castiel frowned.

“What d’you mean ‘sitting in me’?”

There was no way that was accidental. He said the Grace had gone off, disappeared. But he was insinuating that it was still there?

“Cas?”

“It’s… still here.” Castiel placed a hand on his gut and broke the eye contact he had with Dean. “It… is still in me. I can feel it. But it’s useless. I can feel Theo, his essence, in me, but there is no consciousness or Angel at all. Only a feeling swirling around in me, Dean.”

“Okay?”

“Theo’s Grace is still here and I can’t use it or get rid of it.”

“What does that mean? Is it… is it doing somethin’?” 

Suddenly, his worst fears were realized when Cas looked back at him and there was terror in his eyes, but resignation at the same time.

“It’s making me weak. This,” he gestured at his body. “Is why I’m taking so long to get better.”

“But you’re human.”

“It shouldn’t take this long, I think, or feel as horrible as it does. There is a lingering burn from the Grace and it only gets stronger with each day.”

“Cas, what are you talking about?”

Castiel turned his eyes away again, at this point Dean was getting tired of it but repressed himself from forcing the Angel to look in his direction. Not seeing his eyes, no matter how clouded, after all the years of intense eye staring they both did was weird. It felt out of touch- like this Cas was another one entirely. Like a Cas that had given up on life. 

He sighed and it was so human Dean suddenly got chills. 

“The Grace that’s trapped inside me. It will continue making me sick.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughed. “But we can handle a cold or fever or whatever it is, Cas.”

“It’ll burn my vessel, make me sick, and then I will eventually die.”

Dean swallowed. “Oh.”


	6. Good Times Bad Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Angel’s eyes had gone downcast, the fight gone but the endless hopelessness still evident in his posture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is a little gift, posted early just for y'all.  
> Happy Holidays!
> 
>  
> 
> This is a piece I've been writing for the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge and i'll be posting the fic in its entirety here.
> 
> (I did NOT finish this within the month of November, but I still plan to continue it.)
> 
> Wish me luck!

_ Die? _

Dean shook his head, pinched himself, blinked his eyes open and closed. He hoped desperately that this was a dream. That he would wake up any moment and Cas would be sitting at his bedside watching him sleep- no matter how much he hated him doing it. But none of it was working. Castiel continued to sit solemnly on the folded bed sheets that had begun to wrinkle underneath him and Dean was forced to replay a single word over and over in his head.

Die.

Dead.

Die?!

They had just gotten Cas back. Everything was falling on its head and the Earth, including Heaven, was in a state of uncertainty. But when they had one good thing come back to them they were suddenly going to lose it. Not by some inevitable force, but by the very thing that used to be in the Angel’s body?

“No.” Dean’s voice wavered.

Castiel glanced at him questioningly.

“What are you saying?”

“I said no. We’re not gonna frickin’ let you die to a… to a cold, man.”

“There’s nothing you can do for it.”

“Yes, there is!” Suddenly, Dean was on the defensive, his heart hammering in his chest. “We’ll find another way. We always do. We’ll get Crowley and-”

“You and your brother stay out of this.”

_ What? _

Dean turned towards Castiel. The solid glare that met him was terrifying and he felt pinned down by it. Those once dull eyes were now piercing and flaring.

“Cas, we-”

“Will do nothing. I’ve already caused the both of you enough pain and negative repercussion that you didn’t deserve. Making deals with demons or Gods will do nothing but bring yet another unfortunate circumstance and I can’t stand to have such a thing happen because of me.” He wiped his hands down the legs of his sweatpants. His voice calmed somewhat as well, but there was still an underlying need to talk, to explain things as he wanted to. “I’ve accepted this for some time now. I have lived for thousands of years, have watched over humanity and have lived the best few years of my life here on Earth with you and Sam. I couldn’t ask for more, so I won’t ask for this.”

“Cas, this is death we’re talking about! I know we have a bad reputation for never staying dead, but if there’s some way to stop it in case it actually turns out permanent, then we have to try.”

“That’s my final decision, Dean. I am in this situation on my own volition and now I have to deal with the consequences.”

“And if the consequence is death?”

“So be it.”

“No,” Dean repeated.

“Dean-”

“I said no, Cas. We're not gonna let you die from something that we could find a cure for- something that we could keep from happening.” 

“I don't deserve the two of you suffering afterwards because of the repercussions.”

“You pulled me out of hell.”

“Because it was God's will.”

“You took on Sam's memories of the cage with Lucifer and Michael.”

“I broke his wall!”

“You stayed in Purgatory, after running from Leviathans the entire time to keep me safe!”

“I stayed to repent for my sins!” Castiel huffed out a breath. “I was the one that brought the Leviathans to Earth because of my incessant need to defeat Raphael and, thus, becoming a false God.”

“Castiel, Angel of the Lord, you betrayed Heaven in order to protect us and you're still fuckin’ here! Does that mean anything to you? Cas, we need you.” Dean felt himself getting worked up. What little composure he had left was quickly being stripped away bit by bit. “I need you.”

“And all of the suffering I caused? What of that, Dean? All of…” His voice grew unsteady, his gaze wavered and he looked away from the glare both were inflicting on each other. His exhale of breath came out shaky and he seemed to be fighting unsuccessfully against the sting at the back of his eyes. “What of the deaths I’ve caused?” His voice was barely above a whisper now. “I’ve killed my own brothers and sisters. I’ve… slaughtered Angels for my own gain. Meg died because of me. I almost killed you and Sam on more than one occasion. I killed Bobby.”

Dean choked. Of all the things he thought he would bring up, that was not one of them.

“Cas,” his voice lowered a decibel, “you didn’t kill Bobby. Bobby was an accident.”

“All due to my obsession with power.”

Dean stood, his boots wearing a hole in the soles now by his sudden pacing. His hands wrung together in front of him as he worked out what to say. How to convince Cas that his and Sam’s surrogate father’s untimely death was in no way his fault. 

“Dick Roman.”

Castiel tilted his head, though a deeply seeded pain still lingered where it was in his bright eyes.

“He killed Bobby, not you.”

“It was my fault, however, that Dick-”

“No.” He was using that word a lot today. “You couldn’t control that son’of’a bitch’s actions. Bobby went down fighting jus’ like he wanted. No one’s taking the blame.”

_ Including me. _

“And if you still think you don’t deserve to be saved, Sam and I do and we’ll do anything to keep you here, with us. Angel or not.”

The Angel’s eyes had gone downcast, the fight gone but the endless hopelessness still evident in his posture.

“Dean, I used to be able to feel it. Faith. Hope.” His voice stuttered and he struggled to take another breath. “I used to be an Angel meant to guide mankind into the light, to be what they would look up to when God wouldn't respond. But being here, with all the knowledge I have now, it's difficult. And it hurts. Far more than being hungry or cold. Being human with all the knowledge I possess over the thousands of years I've been alive is a worse torture than I would wish on any of my enemies.”

“Cas.” 

“Learning what it means to be hungry. How important sleep is. Feeling all these endless amounts of emotions and not being able to put them down into words, but utter confusion is exhausting. And being human now, I understand what being tired truly means.” He laughed hollowly.

“Hey.” Dean struggled to find the right words. “Me an’ Sam, we know everything there is to know about being human. We might not be the best teachers, but we can still try.”

Castiel’s lip quirked. “You’ve both been doing a fine job with teaching.” He lifted his head, trying his best to convey how honest he was being. “Trust me.”

Dean did.

Now he just wished Cas would trust him too.


	7. To Travel The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He suddenly found a surfacing joy that the Winchesters had found this place. Somewhere safe and secure enough that one day they could call it their home just as Castiel had once called Heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a piece I've been writing for the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge and i'll be posting the fic in its entirety here.
> 
> (I did NOT finish this within the month of November, but I still plan to continue it.)
> 
> Wish me luck!

The two of them were on better terms now. At least, that’s what Castiel hoped. He idealized that the conversation they had only hours prior would change something between them. 

Apparently it hadn’t so much as he thought.

Dean was still as stubborn as ever- not that Castiel wasn’t however. He felt guilty about harboring feelings for the man when there was so much going on in their lives. 

And he had to wonder whether Dean would want a man- an Angel no longer…

Castiel sighed and drew the sheets higher over his knees. The book clutched in his hand all but forgotten.

He was reading  _ Hamlet _ , though he’d only gotten halfway through before boredom had set in. Watching Netflix was in no way entertaining unless Dean was sat watching with him. If he didn’t understand a reference, Dean would be right there to explain it to him- not sounding at all frustrated or annoyed.

Castiel was grateful for that.

It had only been a few hours.

It was somewhere nearing three in the morning, according to the digital clock at his bedside table. He hadn’t been asleep much. At all, actually; too worked over the fact that Dean had looked devastated at the idea of the ex-Angel dying. Telling him that he and Sam would go as far as they could to keep him alive and healthy. There was a time when Dean had mentioned that they were family, but after all the bloodshed and heartbreak that they had been through by Castiel’s own hands, he thought they couldn’t care less.

3:30 am.

It was late.

And Castiel was tired, but he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t read- his mind a jumbled mess of everything. When he was an Angel, sleep wasn’t required to sustain his body. He’d fall into a deep meditation at times to deal with the swirling thoughts, images, and sounds; that would clear his head tremendously. Now, though, even the act of sleeping was difficult. His brain felt in a constant knot with memories and knowledge he collected through years as an Angel and now the humanness of his brain and body were too much.

He worked his fingers around his wrist- the book falling atop his bed- and felt at the red, blistering lines that stood out. He couldn’t bring himself to glance at them. The feeling of rusted shackles lingered and the sudden chills running throughout his body made him drop his wrist. It fell lifelessly onto the bed and he pulled his knees tighter into his chest.

His mind returning to the night…

He didn’t think he could be effected by something so brief, but the act itself corrupted his mind. As an Angel, he could wipe the memory clean, erase the experience that lingered there and forget the raging emotions as they struggled to correspond with his frantic heart. His brothers and sisters were working in ways to find him in any means possible. They thought he was the key to restoring Heaven, but if there truly was any way, he didn’t believe in the slightest that he would be able to do anything for it. The one ingredient that was linked towards Castiel was his Grace. Now that it was gone…

Castiel gripped his hair, pulling it, causing pain, anything to distract from the darker thoughts that threatened to invade his mind. 

He couldn’t sleep.

With a disgruntled groan, he forcefully pulled himself off of his bed and padded his way out the room and down the hall. His bare feet feeling better on the cold floor that traveled throughout the Bunker.

Here, he felt safe. With the sigils, walls, secretivity of the Bunker’s existence and Sam and Dean only a few rooms away. His head felt lighter the moment he stepped into the kitchen. He quietly pulled open the fridge door and pulled out a single bottle of beer, rolling it back and forth between his hands.

The chair beneath him creaked and he struggled to sit comfortably without the wood splintering- being careful that the chair wouldn’t break beneath him.

He had to wonder when this chair had suddenly gotten weaker. Unless it was in this state much before the brothers had found the Bunker. 

Castiel felt the cool glass beneath his fingertips and continued to run his pads over the forming condensation. He suddenly found a surfacing joy that the Winchesters had found this place. Somewhere safe and secure enough that one day they could call it their home just as Castiel had once called Heaven.

But he frowned. 

Heaven was no longer his home after the betrayal and amount of destruction he caused it in his short time walking the Earth.

He stood, his body protesting at the unexpected movement to his wounds, and wearily made his way through the dormitory hallway. He could hear the soft snores behind Dean’s door- a speck of light sparked in his heart at this. He continued through the library where books had been piled on tables. He assumed for inventory purposes. And found the map room and then the main door that led out of the Bunker.

The beer bottle clanked against a stair and he was jarred out of his clouded vision. Unknowingly, he’d climbed the flight of stairs and was at the very top at this point. His hand hovered on the door’s latch and he hurriedly pulled it away, terrified at the prospect that his body had taken its own course in deciding to leave.

He didn’t even have shoes on.

Frowning, he worked his way back down the stairs and led his feet away and back towards the map room- sitting at one of the chairs and tapping his fingers nervously against the top. The cold beer still clutched in his hand.

  
  


“Hey.”

Castiel jerked awake, presumably falling asleep for a moment at the war room table. He wiped a hand down his face and belatedly realized that the beer bottle was still gripped in his hand. He pulled it off, finding it difficult to move his hand now that it had cramped up in such a position. The bottle had reached room temperature at this point. The condensation gone yet making his hand pruny because of it. 

“Hello.” He responded gruffly.

“Cas, you do know you’re supposed to drink that, right?” Dean asked amusedly.

Castiel nodded, his brain still fogged from sleep.

“What time is it?”

The hunter glanced quickly at his watch. “Four thirty.”

“Why are you up?”

When he got no immediate answer, he lifted his tired head to catch Dean’s eyes. He looked back, glancing every which way in nervousness, however. 

“Worried ‘bout you.”

“That’s rather nice, Dean.”

He laughed.

“But don’t concern yourself with my terrible sleeping habits. You can still catch a few more hours.”

“Nah, I think I’m good.” Dean pulled over a chair and sat down beside him. “Wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine, Dean.”

“Sure. I guess.” But he wasn’t convinced. He tapped his finger on a random portion of the map’s southern hemisphere, trailing lazily over Peru and then Brazil.

Castiel smiled forlornly at this.

“What?” Dean asked, his hand stopping.

“I went to Brazil several times.”

Dean blinked, his mouth trapped in a straight line.

“I stood atop the statue of Cristo Redentor just before the sun rose. It was beautiful, Dean.” His smile faded, but his eyes still glimmered, reliving the memory of the scenic view when he had little to no care in the world and everything seemed to alright on Earth and in Heaven for the time being.

“We’ll go there again one day.” Dean caught the man’s gaze and conveyed as much of the promise as he could. “I swear, man.”

Because he wouldn’t let Cas die before they were able to see different parts of the world together, whether through the fast-travel Grace gave them or the cramped passenger seating of American Airlines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> If you can, don't forget to leave KUDOS and a Comment!


	8. I Can't Quit You Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He cleared his throat and responded in a throaty whisper. “If it’s the best we can do, then we might as well try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a piece I've been writing for the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge and i'll be posting the fic in its entirety here.
> 
> (I did NOT finish this within the month of November, but I still plan to continue it.)
> 
> Wish me luck!
> 
> (See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

“So, what you’re saying is, we need to find some way of taking out Cas’s grace?”

Castiel frowned. “Not mine. Theo’s.”

Dean nodded. “Exactly. We gotta get that shit outta him before it burns up his vessel. His body.” 

The odd glance that Sam sent his way was quickly ignored and instead Dean continued. Castiel had been growing rigid and unresponsive beside him. Whatever he was thinking- with the way his eyes were growing distant- Dean wanted it to stop. One way or another.

“So, what? Deals?”

As soon as the word left Sam’s mouth, Castiel returned. His eyes grew piercing as he glared at both Winchesters.

“I said no deals, Dean.”

“Well, I didn’t” Dean shot back at him. “I told you I was gonna do whatever I had to so you wouldn’t fucking die.”

Sam didn’t say a word; realizing that this was a conversation he hadn’t been involved in.

Castiel huffed out a breath. His body had grown resigned, but his eyes continued to do as they had. At the moment, he was locked in a heated stare with Dean, both unwavering until the Angel finally relented. Sweat had begun to form on his brow and the paleness in his skin was returning.

_ Not good. _

“Okay,” Dean said softer now. “Okay, Cas. No deals. No demons, no Gods, none of that.”

Sam nodded, not fully understanding the discussion, but conceding anyway. “Guys, we’re in the British Men of Letters’ bunker. I’m positive there’s something here.”

“On Angels?” Dean asked.

“Doubtful.” Came Castiel’s response.

But Sam ignored them both and carried on. “If we’re going to find something, it has to be here. We’re in the hub of supernatural lore; there’s bound to be something.”

“We can’t just…” Dean glanced wearily at the Angel before continuing, “cut it out?”

Castiel swallowed and Dean instantly realized he’d said something wrong. The flash of fear in his blue eyes scared the hunter even. 

Did it have something to do with Metatron? 

As if Cas could read his mind, he looked away, hiding the emotion in his eyes from Dean. “We can’t.” His voice was hollow and quiet. “It is not flowing in me as my own Grace would be doing… merely sitting.”

“So, a manual extraction.” Said Sam.

“Yeah. We’ll find some way.” Dean reassured.

 

It had been another two days of searching through hundreds of books, stacking them all in one pile and continuing with the opposite side of the library.

Cas wasn’t doing any better. In fact, he seemed to be getting much worse. After only a few hours of searching for him, he immediately needed to take a break. His fever had come back and he could hardly move without instantly exhausting himself. 

Eating was another thing entirely for him. If he so much as looked at food, he would get sick and be unable to function for the rest of the day. His stomach was in so much of a fit that even the act of drinking water was getting harder on his body. But, Dean still forced him to drink some and Sam tried his best to reassure the Angel that water was the best bet in getting him feeling healthier again. For the time being, it appeared that water was the only thing he could keep down as long as he drank it in small sips.

After the first day of lying in bed, Castiel got tired of that and moved off into “The Dean Cave” to relax on the little couch there and watch a Nature show on Netflix. He spent nearly half a day on the couch, drinking water and chewing on ice cubes when the fever became too much.

Near the end of the second day, the fever had gone down. He insisted he was doing better, besides a raging migraine, and joined the brothers in their search for a cure in the library.

 

“So get this.” Sam pulled up a seat in front of both men and placed a book between them, pages flipping over to one side to reveal the cover. It read, in gold trimmed letters, “The Inner Workings of Angels”. 

“This was apparently written by a British man of letters, James Haggarty. He studied something about extracting Grace from Angels, Archangels, even Nephilims. It was supposed to be so you could use it in tracking spells, to find that Angel I guess.”

“Where are you goin’ with this, Sammy?” Dean asked.

“What I’m saying is, Haggarty died before he could test it out, but it could be the chance that we have at removing the Grace that’s in Cas.” 

Opening the book, he revealed a number of pages- loosely held together by a silver paperclip and written all over in messy, cursive notations. And  on the very first page there sat a crudely drawn image of a syringe with a needle nearly five inches long and a cylindrical capsule. 

“We find that, and we can remove the Grace with it.”

“Hell no.”

“Dean, this might be our only-”

“We’ll find some other way.”

Castiel’s glance towards him made Dean feel uneasy suddenly. 

He understood what Sam was getting at with this thing they found. But it wasn’t full proof so they would basically be experimenting. On Cas too.

But Castiel kept staring and Dean found he suddenly couldn’t look away. His expression was barren and unreadable. There was, however, a shimmer of something and the hunter wasn’t entirely sure what it could’ve been.

“We’ll find something else.” He told Cas.

Yet the Angel was shaking his head- slow and sure.

“Cas, what-”

He cleared his throat and responded in a throaty whisper. “If it’s the best we can do, then we might as well try.”

“We don’t even know if it works.”

“This solution doesn’t involve deals and if this theory is based off of these men of letters, after everything else that we’ve found and read here, it might be safe to assume that this will work.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something more, but his brother beat him to it.

“He’s right, Dean. No deals, no consequences. If this works, then great. If it doesn’t, we find something else.”

“So- so what?” Dean stuttered. “We’re gonna use ‘im like a lab rat?”

“I’m not a rat, Dean.” Came Castiel’s confused reply.

And if the atmospheric bubble surrounding Dean was tangible, it would’ve popped and the air on the outside finally let him breathe. Castiel was decisive and chose to do this. He made Dean promise that there would be no deal making or the brothers’ involvement. Here they were, with a very plausible solution and none of the things Cas was afraid of happening.

“Cas. If it gets to be too much, you have to let us know, buddy.”

Castiel smiled a pained smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I promise, Dean.”

Sam clapped his hands and retrieved the book. “Okay. Go take Cas back to bed and I’ll search around for this… Grace extractor thing.”

Dean waved his brother a short goodbye- though he was no longer paying attention, too indulged in finding what they needed- and led Cas back down the hall towards his room. He left him with a bottle of pain reliever for his migraine and a glass of water before joining Sam back outside to find the whatchamacallit. 

Though he still didn’t like the idea completely.

\---

 

“Dean.” Castiel was calling for the hunter from across the room. He stood at the doorway to the library and suddenly Dean realized how odd his friend looked.

Not only was he pale and shaking- most likely from fever- but the lopsided grin on his face and the head tilt that had no reason for being there were unnatural. This is what scared Dean into leaping to his feet. What made him dash across the room in .02 seconds in order to reach his friend.

The concern was clearly palpable. Sam, still at the table, could feel it coming off his brother in waves. He stood too and made his way cautiously to them.

“Cas?” Sam’s voice was firm, but wavered slightly, unsure as to what he should be doing.

Dean appeared to have keeping the man steady handled. Castiel was all but leaning heavily on him.

The smile never left his face however. 

Dean had seen that smirk before and his spine tingled from it.

“Cas.” He waved his hand in front of his friend’s face, desperate to get his attention. “Cas, I swear to God.”

When his blue eyes finally met him, the glassiness was unsettling. 

_ Are you stoned? _

_ Uh, Generally, yeah. _

“Are you stoned?” 

His mouth had formed the words before he could think them away. Sam wilted nervously beside him. Dean had told him about his trip to the apocalyptic 2014 after enough insistence. He knew exactly the way the angel had turned out and the worried look he passed his brother made him itch.

Castiel tilted his head further. “Uh... “ He glanced around himself- faltering slightly when he was forced to lean onto Dean for balance. “I see no stones.”

Sam sighed. “Cas, what happened? What did you take?”

The angel met his eyes then looked towards Dean and back away to glance at the buttons of his shirt- finding interest in them suddenly. “Everything, I think.”

“Cas, what the hell are you talking about?”

He flinched at the voice mere inches from his ear. His hand flew over to grip Dean’s arm between his shaking fingers. “Too loud, Dean.”

The smile never wavered.

“It all hurt.” He finally said. “Oh, there was the bottle you left me. With the little… pills. Really colorful.” He laughed. “It said pain reliever and you told me to take some.”

_ Doesn't he know how pills work? _

“How many?” Dean growled.

Castiel swayed and laughed again.

“How many, Cas?”

The angel lifted five fingers for a second and returned his hand to rest on Dean. He laughed deep and hollow and if he wasn’t in the predicament he was in right now, Dean might have found it attractive.

“Dean, he overdosed.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

Dean brought both of his hands to the sides of Castiel’s head, effectively holding him in place until their eyes met. “Hey.” The angel stared everywhere but the hunter. His eyes fell this way and that and his head lolled back and forth. 

But he finally caught the green eyes boring into him with concern and squinted his eyes pitifully.

The smile remained and his voice grew leering, sarcastic even with its tone when he began to sing- horribly as it were, his voice cracking at every syllable. “Believe it or not… I’m walkin’ on’air… feel so free. ‘Lying away onna wing an’ a pray-er…”

“Still remembers song lyrics apparently.” Sam grumbled.

Castiel broke out into giggles when he forgot the next words. His hands grasped Dean’s wrists. “It’s jus’ me…”

“Alright. That’s it, buddy.” Dean pushed the angel over towards the dormitory wing- full intent on leading him to his room when Castiel practically fell after a few steps.

“Cas, come’on.”

“I'might'be sick…” His words slurred so suddenly that Dean had to drag him towards the bathroom beside them and off to one of the porcelain toilets. 

Sam followed them the whole way, lifting whatever weight of his friend he could to get them there just before he began retching into the bowl.

His breath heaved and sputtered for a moment until oranges and greens followed streams of bile into the toilet. Dean instantly recognized it as Nyquil and sighed with relief. Sam mirrored his expression.

Whatever medicine, whenever he’d taken it, was at least exiting his system finally. 

The way his body convulsed under Dean’s fingers was another cause for concern though. And the heat. His temperature was in no way healthy at the moment. They needed to get him to a bed, get rid of the fever, and hide all the medication laying around.

“No way is he getting ‘hold of another anything.” He told Sam. “We hide that shit from now on.”

Sam agreed wholeheartedly. 

It was another few minutes before Castiel had come back to himself, his weight heavy and his breathing ragged. His hair was a disheveled mess again and Dean was absolutely tempted to run his fingers through it in order to get it styled back to the normal Castiel he was used to seeing.

They needed to get that Grace extracted. Fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's gotten this far. It really means more to me than you can imagine.  
> Parts of my life are not on the up side and writing this fic has really helped me.  
> Thank you!
> 
> Don't forget to leave KUDOS and COMMENTS!


	9. Dream On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel huffed. He barely moved. But when he did, his face was contorted in mirth and confusion. His eyes losing their bright blue and glazing over.
> 
> “This is cruel, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a piece I've been writing for the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge and i'll be posting the fic in its entirety here.
> 
> (I did NOT finish this within the month of November, but I still plan to continue it.)
> 
> Wish me luck!
> 
> (See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

“I can't believe he OD'd man.”

“Me neither.”

“No, seriously, Sammy. I give him one instruction and he already messes it up.”

“Dean.” Sam calmly stood up from the kitchen chair and grabbed a glass of water, offering it to his brother whom gratefully took it. “Being human- or whatever in between he is at the moment- it's probably not easy. I mean, he really didn't have much education on it considering where he was for a while.”

Dean hummed, not saying anything however for fear of reliving the earlier mistake he'd made. 

“I just don't get how the guy could take a handful of pills and expect to be fine.”

“Maybe he didn't know.” Sam suggested.

Dean opened his mouth to say more, but quickly shut it when the figure at the corner of his eye stopped him.

Castiel was awake, not as sick looking but still leaning heavily against the door frame.

“Hey, Snow White. That bad apple really did a number on you.”

Cas squinted his eyes and rubbed a hand down his face. “I never had an apple.”

Dean almost laughed.

“Cas, why did you take so many pills?” Sam asked.

“Alright, Velma. Questions first, I guess.”

Sam gave him a quick, withering glare at the comment but waited patiently for Castiel’s answer. And when he didn’t respond immediately, his head listing to the side as if he were falling asleep, he asked the question again. 

Castiel pushed himself to standing straighter and grabbed the seat beside Dean, his eyes laying heavily on the grain of the table. He worked his fingers to intertwine them together before responding. 

“Sam, Dean…” his voice quavered. “I don’t know if I can do this.” His eyes never once lost their interest in the patterns on the table. 

“Do what?” Dean asked warily. 

He already knew the answer and so did Sam based on the expression he was giving his brother. But for the Angel’s sake, they had to pretend they didn’t. He was in a state that they had never seen him in and they had to tread lightly around it.

Castiel looked up and the infinite sorrow in his eyes almost made Dean scream. He had been a part of this and caused a great portion in the Angels uncertainty and fading hope. He had to be there when Castiel was at his lowest, but instead he’d pretended everything was fine to protect his brother. Because Sam always came first for everything. He could’ve done something different- could’ve offered the Angel a safer place to stay with money and fake credit cards so he wouldn’t have been suffering as much as he had. Because the pain that Dean saw now was way worse than anything he’d seen before. Castiel would have been fine if Dean had thought his planning through and saw to it that his friend was doing okay, to teach him everything he needed to know before shoving him out into the world on his own. 

“If I’m human… I can’t live like that again.” He frowned. “At least, with this Grace, I am still connected to Heaven in some way.”

Sam had to take over the conversation. Dean was so shocked he could barely speak a word. “Cas, it’s not doing anything for you. It’s killing you.”

“Dying might be better than to live as I had.”

“Why? We might finally catch a break for a while and you need to be here for that. We found a way that might keep you alive and we’re more than willing to have you here, you’re family.”

“I…” Castiel stuttered. “I don’t know if I can believe that anymore. If- if I’m human, I fear I may have to return to my previous life. I can’t do it, Sam.”

Dean bowed his head, shameful and guilty at the turn of the conversation. 

Castiel was scared that he would be forced to leave again like he’d been made to do before. And he didn’t blame him. Their trust had been severed at some point and now it would take a while to gain that back. 

“Dean?” Sam asked.

“Man…” Dean tried to cover up the immense pain in his voice, but couldn’t. What Cas had been through by himself- he felt horrible about it. The hurt he saw in his eyes when he was told to leave, that look would forever haunt his dreams. “Cas.” He tried to catch the blue eyes, but when he did, he was forced to look away. He never wanted to hurt the Angel again. “I didn’t mean to do it, buddy.”

Sam stared on in confusion but thankfully stayed silent throughout. 

“Gadreel forced me to do it or he would let Sammy die. I’m sorry, it was fucked up on my part and I could’ve- should’ve done something about it.”

“Wait.” Sam said suddenly. “What are you talking about? Made you do what?” He looked to Dean and then Castiel but got no answer. “Dean!”

Castiel jumped slightly but stayed where he was.

Dean, on the other hand, jolted himself into looking at Sam, really looking at him. 

_ Here comes the truth. _

“After April-”

Cas flinched at the name and Dean had to wonder if there was lingering trauma from that.

“-I was gonna let Cas stay with us, but Gadreel threatened that he would leave you if Cas didn’t leave an’ you were so sick, man. I couldn’t let that happen after I had just gotten you back-”

“So first you trick me into letting an Angel possess me and then put Cas’ life on the line and force him off onto the streets?!”

“But, that’s-”

“Sam, it wasn't-”

But the hunter ignored them both. Castiel trying to offer assistance in Dean's reasoning towards his brother.

“Dean, you need to stop seeing things your way.” And Sam was suddenly the least composed in the room, his chair landing on its back as he kicked himself out of it to stand, his tall figure towering over his brother. “You don’t see what this shit does to people! How could you do that to Cas of all people? After everything he’s done for us, after how you feel-”

“Sammy, don’t you dare finish that sentence!”

They both stopped, their breaths ragged and heat flaring up in their faces.  Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew he deserved to be yelled at, maybe even beat up. But saying that in front of Cas, he would be absolutely mortified. Though, he almost believed he deserved it at this point. He betrayed both his brother and his best friend; the only two people in this world that meant so much to Dean that he could hardly breathe when something happened to them. Like now, he could barely take in a breath from the suffering he was still causing them.

Sam pushed away from the table and made his way through the kitchen- one final warning as he headed out the door. “Tell him, Dean, before I do because I’m getting sick and tired of it!”

And now Dean and Cas were alone in the heavy silence invading the room.

“Cas, I'm sorry. I really am.” Dean finally said. “But you know the circumstances, man. They weren't good and Sammy was really sick.”

“I understand, Dean. But that was under false pretenses of protection for your brother.” His voice grew somber; quieter and Dean suddenly grew tense. “I have to wonder, though, if you would kick me back to the streets on your own decision.”

Dean swallowed. Swallowed again and couldn't get his breath for a second. Hearing what Castiel said, with the sureness in his voice, he couldn't believe that was what he truly thought. How could he have messed up so bad that his best friend didn't know him anymore.

“N-no, Cas. There's no way in hell I would ever do that. Never.”

“Why, Dean?”

“What?”

“Why?” There was a fire in his eyes when he looked up and caught Dean's green ones. He no longer looked shy or on the brink of passing out, only determined to get a response and reason. “Why do you think I'm worth your time after everything I've done to you, to Sam, to Heaven and Earth? Why do you think I deserve to be saved?”

“Cas, you're our family. My best friend.” Dean said with little to no hesitance. The hammering in his heart grew frantic.

“You've said that to me more times than I can count, Dean- on many occasion, yet here we are. Sam is your brother and you two already have such a strained relationship.” He glanced down at his hands. “But I've seen the way you fight for each other. Tooth and nail to keep each other together, yet I believe that we no longer share that connection. I've done so much bad that I hardly know what you would do if I were to turn towards that power once more.”

“Who says you will?”

“And who wills it that I won't?!”

“Cas, please. You don't deserve this.”

“After everything I've done?”

“You're too important!”

“To who?” Cas growled.

“To me. Not just in a brotherly way, but to me in a way that I should've told you about sooner-”

“That doesn't make any-”

“God fucking dammit, I love you, Cas. For years and I've just been too afraid to say it!”

This was not how this was supposed to go. This conversation was supposed to be in a totally different situation. Maybe after a few drinks, a drive around Lebanon- just the two of them. Hell, maybe even some sex.

But this- right here- this was not it.

Why? Why was it only now that Dean had started to think about this?

“Cas. I swear to God, this… this Grace whatever will work. You'll be better, we can do normal human things, teach you about music and figure out if you think Star Trek trumps Star Wars. Hunt together. Just… be…”

Castiel huffed. He barely moved. But when he did, his face was contorted in mirth and confusion. His eyes losing their bright blue and glazing over. 

“This is cruel, Dean.”

“What?” At this point, Dean had no idea what Castiel was talking about. At the confused feeling in his brain it was enough to almost fuzz out the next words- almost.

“For you to say such a thing after… after everything. For you to pretend, to do anything so that I will allow you and your brother to do as you please. Without consideration towards my own choices. My decision. This… is cruel, Dean, even for you.”

“Cas-” Dean choked. “What are you talking about?”

“You, Dean.” His hands nervously pulled together and then pulled apart to slap down on the table beneath him. Castiel was pissed. “You can't expect me to believe you after everything. This has been going on- for years and only now is when you bother to mention something so pivotal?!”

“No, man, I- I wanted to-”

“I can't believe for a moment that what you speak is the truth. Because, if it were, you would not have said it now.”

“Cas-”

“I've decided, Dean.” He was on his feet, the chair forgotten behind him. “I don't want you and your brother's help. Whatever Angelic prowess I still possess, I would rather live for that remaining time and go when it truly is my time. When… when I die. I've come back plenty of times in the past. If I am meant to live, then I will.”

Dean's eyes widened, disbelief clouding his words and the very movement of his body. “Cas-” he stood as well. “Buddy, you don't know what you're saying. I can't just… hope that you come back to life. And what if you don't?!”

“Then, I don't. Don't bother dealing your way into bringing me back. When I go, it'll be because I chose it and you need to respect that no matter all the times you haven't.”

“Cas-” he reached a hand, desperately grappling for the other man, but Castiel had walked out at this point, his figure retreating down the dormitory hall and the distinctive sound of a room door followed.

The pit in Dean's stomach hollowed him out, but the resounding pain of rejection was much worse.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the way this chapter turned out. But Castiel and Dean can't just have an apple-pie-life after basically everything going wrong.  
> Things get worse before they get better.
> 
> But thanks for reading and Please leave KUDOS and COMMENTS.  
> Thank you


	10. Different situations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean didn’t love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finishing this piece soon, and I promise the last 2 chapters will have so much. I'm pouring my heart and soul into them.  
> This work has been insightful, to say the least, and no matter how many people might actually be reading it, I'm just happy to be able to write this one.  
> Thank you.

Dean was desperate at this point. Not only had he basically spilled his guts, heart, and soul to his best friend, but now he was missing and insisting that death was the most favorable option. Nothing ever seemed to go right for the Winchesters, so why bother trying?

The hunter pushed his seat back, slamming it none too gently against the table and paced around the kitchen for a moment as he tried to figure out what to do. 

His brother was mad at him.

For everything as per usual.

His best friend was… mad… confused. Hurt.

He ran a hand through his hair and then over his face in an attempt to calm his racing emotions. Nothing was to the fault of Sam or Castiel. This time it all belonged to Dean and though he usually had a hard time admitting it, this one was all on him. The Angel possession, kicking Castiel out on the streets, lying, keeping secrets for the sake of his own manhood and the sexual confusion he seemed to constantly be in.

He stopped in the middle of the kitchen and sighed, hands resting on his hips in frustration.

Why was it that now he thought it would be a good time to mention something so… pivotal? At first, he would have blamed Sam’s pressure and fear of his brother getting to the topic first, but now-

There was no point worrying about that when Castiel’s actual life was hanging in the balance. They hadn’t even found the Grace apparatus yet.

This day was just turning out worse by the second.

Dean definitely needed to fix this. Now.

Scowling, he left the kitchen and made his way for the dorms; bypassing Castiel’s own room in the process and heading straight for Sam’s. He couldn’t think where else he would be.

Without so much as a knock, he shoved open the door and locked it behind himself- completely ignoring the stunned look from his brother in the process.

“D-Dean, what are you doing?” Came the unsure voice of Sam.

Dean didn’t answer and set himself to sit beside the taller man on his bed. For a brief distraction, he worked his hand over the mattress and scoffed.

“Dude, we seriously need to get you memory foam.”

“Dean? What the hell happened?” The annoyance was still clear in his voice as the earlier discussion was at the forefront of his mind. “I heard you and… and Cas- did you tell him?”

He was still mad. The love life of his brother not as important as everything else that had been mentioned.

“Dean.”

“I don’t know!” Dean broke. The blase attitude he tried so hard to keep instantly flung itself out of the window of a ten story building. “I’m fucking really sorry for all the shit I did even though I know sorry ain’t gonna fix it. I did some stupid crap cuz I didn’t want you to die and now Cas’s gotta deal with it an’ I never wanted that to happen. In fact, it’s still pretty much effecting you too so this is a lose-lose situation either way.” He took a moment for air and continued. “Told Cas about the whole thing. Didn’t know it was that obvious, Sammy- he said he’d been feeling the same way- but didn’t believe it when I admitted it. Fucking thought I was usin’ that to make him do what I wanted. Rather be an Angel and die then live and be human again- and god, Sammy, I really fucked up.” His head dropped to his hands with the last words and he couldn’t bring himself to look at his brother. Not after the embarrassingly heart wrenching moment.

Sam ignored every self-depriving thought Dean could’ve possibly had in that moment and brought a hand to his brother’s shoulder instead- squeezing. His voice was rough, but his tone was terse when he spoke. He’d put plenty of thinking on everything that was happening between the three of them. What with the lying and keeping things from one other, they needed to come up with a solution that wouldn’t inevitably make them kill each other in the end. 

“Look, Dean.” His hand squeezed over his brother’s shoulder- effectively getting his attention. “You messed up about Gadreel, sure, I’m still mad at you. You messed up with Cas and I know that because of the type of guy he is he won’t hold it against you, but he’s not gonna forget either. We’ve all screwed up. I went and guzzled demon blood behind your back, raised Satan, and Cas went off on his own a few times and screwed up too. We’ve all done it at this point and there’s pretty much nothing we can do except try and fix the aftermath of everything. Not a single one of us is free from blame when it comes to lying and thinking what we’re doing is right, Dean.” He removed his hand, replacing it with a soft punch to the shoulder instead.

Dean laughed hollowly. “Fucking up's kinda the family business now, ain't it?”

“At this point? Yeah.” Sam sighed. “No more lying, Dean. We do something to save the world, everyone knows about it, you got that?”

“Gonna be hard. But sure.”

He didn’t feel better about the situation, but Sam was at least backing him up in whichever way he could. Not that he would ever forgive himself over everything he’d done in the past. He messed up big time and there was no way to go back and redo anything. Sam was still recovering, Cas was still recovering, Dean was still recovering mentally.

They were all messed up.

“Go talk to Cas,” Sam said.

Dean wanted to nod immediately, but hesitated only a moment.

“Dean.”

Resignedly, Dean lifted himself from Sam’s bed, cracking his knees and stretching his back in the process.

“Go see your boyfriend, old man.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

 

\---

 

Castiel slammed the door behind him, his body collapsing against it. His head was a mess, his brain feeling jumbled and the heat rising in it was of no help either.

No matter what he did, everything seemed to be falling apart. Humanity was a frightening thing to think about. The idea of living… again as he did- no matter what the Winchesters tried to say in order to sway his mind. He kept envisioning himself lying under a bridge while a storm raged just above him. The job he worked hard to keep and earn money for food and shelter gone now after his long stay away from it. Working at the  _ Gas ‘n Sip  _ taught him about humanity- how to act and what to do to survive. But he lost track of work and found himself engrossed in finding Metatron and where he could’ve possibly gone. 

The desperation he felt towards finding his Grace was powerfully persuasive. He cut the throat of his own brother and stole his Angelic powers to feel that same rush of warmth again. Losing it in a mere instant was devastating. And seeing the body of a brother whom died by his hands for nothing was worse.

The swirling pit of Grace in his stomach was a constant reminder for what he’d done. At night it would taunt him for what he could be once more if only it were to spread throughout his vessel. But the semblance of hope that it one day might; in return restoring his powers to almost their full capacity, he clung to this unhealthy obsession and would nearly cry every morning when he’d wake up. Because Angels didn’t sleep and he was reminded of it the moment his eyes closed and his body shut down to rest.

Nightmares plagued him constantly- the images of every wrong doing he’d been the head of. Every death and every scorch mark of wings by his own power embedded in each nightmare.

He would lie to the brothers, tell them he was fine, but the dark thoughts flooded him daily.

With no powers, he was useless; merely another mouth to feed. There was no reason to him being in the bunker with them and the brothers would soon realize it. 

Gadreel was no longer around, yet he feared that if something else happened to Sam, Dean would once again place his brother at the forefront of his mind and forget about Castiel. They would, once again, be in the position of a brother taking precedence. Though Castiel would never blame Dean for doing so- Sam and Dean were fighting for each other since the beginning- the coldness in his veins increased and he grew nervous over the implications. 

If Dean were to be threatened once more, Castiel knew that in a heartbeat he would be cast out again.

The very thought terrified him.

If he passed, for good, the brothers would mourn. They were so kind-hearted that he knew his own death would hurt them, but they would forget. With time, he would only become a vacant memory. The Angel that had helped at times. The Angel who pulled Dean from hell and assisted with the efforts of ending an impending apocalypse. And then continued to fall mad with power, hurt those around him. Then fall for the very man he’d pulled from hell.

No matter how hard he tried to deny the feeling, his heart would grow and his wings would ache with a never-ending longing. Dean meant everything to him. Dean was his very reason for the things he’d done- whether they turned out good or horribly catastrophic.

When the emotions he recognized as human began to infiltrate his Grace and swirl there just as his essence would- his stomach almost always flipping with joy when Dean was around- he realized that this was what humans called love.

Castiel loved Dean.

But for all the years that he tried to make him aware of his feelings, tell him with as many words as he could and convey every emotion he knew how into the glances, touches he gave, Dean would ignore the advances. He’d turn it into something else that wasn’t there. 

Dean loved family. The hunter had, on more than one occasion, called Castiel a brother. He knew the way that Dean loved Sam and how they would do anything for each other, but Castiel was greedy and didn’t want that kind of love. He wanted more. He wanted to feel what he did with April, but only the moments where he felt full and not fearful that any wrong move would send him back into the biting, cold rain. He didn’t love April, but for a moment the hollowness eating at his chest had vanished.

Here, in the bunker, he felt safe. Yet the fear remained because he knew who Dean would choose first in a crisis.

Dean didn’t love him like the Angel wanted in return. The mutual understanding that the love would be reciprocated on equal levels seemed so far from what they had that it hurt Castiel incredibly.

Dean didn’t love him. 

He used the word like a ploy when the Angel made his thoughts known, his misgivings about staying alive and how painful it would be without the freedom and feeling of safety he had at the source of his fingertips. 

If he couldn’t have the one thing he wished while being human, he would rather have none at all.

And then, something odd made its way through him- a rough shiver that he could barely describe. A fire spread in his blood, hot but not painful. The sudden heaviness in his back was an odd sensation and he realized belatedly that those were his wings ripping themselves through the Ethereal plane of their own accord. He fought back the nausea working its way up his throat and he ignored the presence of his wings when they formed entirely; still invisible to the human eye. Their bones were brittle and frail and the feathers on each end shuddered with discomfort.

With wavering legs and the last of his physical strength, he stumbled his way to the bunker’s garage, pushed himself into the driver seat of a four door Sedan and drove off. 

He sped as fast as he could down the gravel road; his wings feeling foreign stuffed between his back and the car seat.


	11. Let it Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment Dean took a step into the small motel room, his heart sank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost done! I've enjoyed writing this piece so far and can't wait to finish it.  
> I have lots of plans in the future for fanfics and my next big one is definitely going to be a case fic with a whole lot of work and effort.  
> Thanks for sticking around for this long.

“Dean, calm down!”

“He’s gone. He- he took a car, he just drove off, Sammy! How am I supposed to be calm?!”

Sam had his phone in hand, typing away frantically, searching for any clue to the Angel’s whereabouts. He offered his brother a quick glance before returning to his work. “We’ll find him, Dean.”

“HE DOESN’T HAVE THAT MUCH TIME LEFT! YOU SAW THE WAY HE WAS, HE’S SICK AND HE’S DRIVING AND HE COULD CRASH-HE-”

“Dean!” Sam was right next to him now, hands stilling the other man’s pacing. “He’ll be fine.”

“But what if he’s not.” Dean’s voice lowered considerably, but his tone continued to shake and his mind worked over time trying to place where his Angel might be. “What if we don’t make it?”

“We will, but we won’t if you don’t calm down and help me look.”

The guilt was enough to cause Dean’s brain to shift gears. He pulled out of his brother’s grasp and immediately made work tracking down Castiel’s phone, last whereabouts, any signs of a Sedan possibly breaking speed limits through reports or traffic cams, the possible distinguishable face of the Angel in the driver’s seat.

Anything that would lead them to where Castiel would be headed to. 

It was another minute of frantic searching before he found something. A Sedan had made its way down an indistinguishable road and continued down along its path in a mad flurry of tires. 

With a cry of victory, Dean pushed himself up from his seat and slammed the computer shut before telling his brother where they were headed.

In mere moments, both Winchesters were prepared, bags slung over their shoulder- as they had no idea what to expect when they found their friend- and a newfound vigor of confidence.

They raced their way down to the garage and to the Impala. Dean was merely a few feet from it before he stepped on something that crunched underfoot. In curiosity, he found himself bending down and picking up what appeared to be a raven feather- no more than four inches- from the ground.

“Sam!” Dean called.

With wide eyes, his brother turned and caught sight of the feather. They both came to a singular thought and they rushed to the car as the sequence of events was new and scary to think what the implications might be. Dean pocketed the feather in turn.

 

The drive was quiet; uncomfortably quiet. 

Dean drove 10 miles above the speed limit, fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel. Sam sat beside him, worried over the stiffness in his brother, but eyes constantly analyzing the feather in his hand.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” He broke the silence. “How in the world are Cas’ feathers… falling?”

“I don’t know.”

“I thought they were on the Ethereal plane, so how come one just… popped up? Out of no where?”

“I don't know.”

“But, seriously, what the hell?”

“I don’t know, Sammy. Okay?”

The tone of voice Dean spoke with was harsh, gruff, and cracked in the middle. When Sam turned to  _ really _ look at his brother, he couldn’t help to take in the redness in his eyes and what appeared to be slight pinpricks of tears at the corners. There was only a few things that could bring Dean to tears. The most prominent memory Sam had- other than the deaths of their loved ones- was the stuttering breath he had when he spoke about his time in hell, remembering the torture he put souls through and how much he enjoyed it no matter how morally wrong it felt inside.

There were few moments in Dean’s life where his vulnerability showed. This was one of those times and Sam had to swallow roughly to keep the lump in his throat from being exposed. 

“Dean,” he started cautiously. His brother never turned to look at him, eyes focused on the road. “You really care about him, don’t you?” 

He knew the answer already. After years of all the things they’d gone through- the good or the bad- Dean and Castiel had been so close that Sam sometimes questioned whether his own blood relation wasn’t strong enough. The bond the two had was uncharacteristically close. In all his life, Dean had never grown so close to someone before. He stayed away from relationships so developmental because he was afraid of losing them. Like losing Dad and then Bobby. Ellen and Jo. He was hard to get to open up. He hardly spoke to anyone and the only way for someone to get close enough was for them to shove their way into his life.

Like Kevin and Charlie. Though Sam feared at times what effect their closeness to the Winchesters would have and if their inevitable death was hanging in the wind; waiting for release.

Dean took a minute to answer, his tongue poking out involuntarily. He cleared his throat. “Cas. He’s… there’s a lot, man. We’ve been through shit together. Shit I’ve caused. Shit he’s caused.” He blinked rapidly, attempting to keep the tears away. “He’s important, Sammy, and I fucking messed up so bad. I can’t just- let him die.”

“I know.”

At that moment, Sam’s phone buzzed. A quick glance to the screen made him aware of the  _ PhoneTracker _ having caught a location. “Dean. Cas’ phone just pinged. He’s staying at a motel three miles down the road.”

Dean’s lips curved into a smile before falling again when his own phone sounded. Hesitantly, he pulled the device from his jacket pocket and opened to a notification. A voice message made only a moment ago. 

Castiel’s phone was detected because he’d left a message. For Dean. With hesitation, he clicked play and put it on speaker; the phone crushed between his hand and the steering wheel.

 

**_Cas- Received: 7:36 pm_ **

_ “Dean. I would like to thank you for everything you have done, whether good or bad. I forgive you for I have done many horrible things that I would like to take back, but can’t. You and Sam gave me such a wonderful life on Earth, more than I could ever give back in just a few words. But, Dean, I… want to believe what you tell me, feel that I know what your true feelings are. I couldn’t have accepted them then and now because of the broken Angel that I’ve become. Dean, I grow weak even now.  _

_ I want to thank you. For everything. You and your brother have brought me so much joy in the years I’ve been here. I… fear I will pass, but I know the two of you will be alright. You have each other. Thank you. _

_ Thank you. Dean. _

_ I do love you. I always will, but this time, when I go, let me. No deals, no rituals, no speaking to Death in an attempt to bring me back.  _

_ My time is over, live as you must with your brother. _

_ Wherever I may be going, I hope to see you there one day when you have fulfilled every life-long goal. From starting a family with someone important to fulfilling your cowboy fantasy. [Chuckles] I will always look over you and your brother; you will always have a place in Heaven and I will gladly await you no matter where death may take me. _

 

The line clicks and the message ends.

Dean sat listening to the quiet left by the ending of the message. His eyes straight ahead; bloodshot. His breath shuttered once, twice, and the tears finally fell.

 

\---

By the time the brothers got to the motel, the parking lot was entirely empty except for several work trucks offering landscaping opportunities and a lonesome, blue Sedan. Dean was already frantically crawling out of the Impala- forgetting even to lock the door and almost leaving the engine running in the process. 

His hands flew to his face, wiping the tears pooling down his cheeks and the redness in his eyes to regain some form of dignity before turning to his brother in a clear show of anxiety. He was awaiting directions- begging Sam without words to tell him exactly where to go next.

Sam whipped his head towards the motel building vaguely. “I’m not 100% sure what room he’s staying in, but I could always go and ask the office. See if they might tell us.”

Dean was about to agree, too desperate and jittery to do so himself, when another odd item caught his gaze. All over the gravelled road sat several feathers of any and every size. The feathers glistened in the incandescent  _ VACANCY _ sign and Dean immediately knew who they belonged to. The only two options, Castiel or a Prehistoric Dinosaur. He doubted it was the latter of the two choices and followed them towards the motel- picking them up as he went. By the time he was at a motel room door, the handle rusted and letters falling off, his arms were bundled full of downy feathers and longer ones that spanned towards six inches.

Instead of knocking- Dean stopped his brothers hand where it was- he pulled out his kit and instantly began to pick the lock. 

Knowing Castiel, there was no way he would open to them; not after his cryptic farewell message. 

The motel room creaked open before either brother had a chance to prepare themselves for what was inside- Cas stood there, Angel blade readied in his shaking hand, his other hand tightly gripping the doorknob. 

“Dean?” His voice shook with the question, but before he could get any further with it, Dean was already pushing himself through; Sam only a foot or so behind him.

The moment Dean took a step into the small motel room, his heart sank. He hadn't even processed the sound of the door roughly shutting behind him; Castiel presumably fell weakly against it in an attempt to close it properly.

But Dean was shocked. Motel rooms were never great- never as clean as he wished it could be- but this very room was atrocious.

Not a single spot on the floor was clear of trash. Empty bottled waters, crumpled tissues, wrappers of mysterious Gas-n-sip snacks, and ripped up portions of carpet just about everywhere. A single twin sized bed-if it could be called that- and a bedside table and lamp appeared to be the only furnishings in the room. 

The bathroom door was shut. Dean could only imagine what mess awaited in there.

But the walls were another story. Sigils, warding signs, and any other symbols to keep supernatural beasts out littered just about every cubic inch. There was a multitude of the same symbol repeated in a frantic manner. Angel warding wrapping all around the room from floor to ceiling and each appeared to have been made with blood; fresh no doubt, considering that there was more bloodied papers than there were food wrappers on the ground.

“I… I apologize for the mess, Dean.” 

Suddenly, Castiel was right beside the hunter, his eyes roaming around the room while his face heated up in what could only be described as shame. His tone was in no means remorseful, however. The appearance of the brothers after his get-a-way was not wanted in the slightest and having them here now was probably driving the Angel crazy.

“I realize this… room might not be ideal, but it provided me with a roof and protection from my brethren.” The unspoken words,  _ Not that it should matter what you two think. I’m going to die here on my own anyway. _

Dean was so tempted to snort at the word “protection” when referring to the Angel's “family”, but kept his mouth shut. “Cool,” he said instead; avoiding the depressing topic altogether. They had an even more downing discussion to bring up. “Nice place. Uh, but Cas, we ain’t here to talk abo-”

“You and Sam are here for one reason, Dean. But my answer is still no.” He paused and his face was so stern that Dean couldn’t find it in himself to say anything else. Instead, he swallowed nervously and waited for Cas to continue. “How did you even find me here?”

Dean opened his mouth to retort brutally, to yell at Cas about how stupid his question was and how stupid he was when Sam took the lead instead. His tone was soft, but the emotion behind his eyes told everything but relaxation. He was as furious as Dean, but he was smart enough not to show it.

“When you left Dean a message. Your phone pinged and I was able to get a location from your GPS.”

Castiel didn’t say anything; his eyes calculating but silent all the while. 

“Yeah, and the other thing you might’ve forgot to mention.” The anger in Dean’s voice ebbed somewhat- following the same path as his brother. If they wanted answers and hopefully an Angel that still walked in the world of the living, they needed to tread with caution. Though, Dean usually wasn’t one for talking, he knew when certain moments called for it. Right now, he would much rather punch the Angel in the face.

Dean removed a handful of feathers from his jacket pocket. His finger twirls a single black-blue tertiary back and forth as he acknowledges it. “The only way we actually found you, Gretel. All these feathers outside led us straight to you. You’re lucky it was us that followed it like a trail of breadcrumbs and not some freakin’ Demon. What gives, man?”

Cas sighs and responds. “My wings are kept on the ethereal plane. When they molt, the feathers fall and land on this plane.”

“What does that mean?” Sam asks. “Your wings are molting?”

“In a sense. Though not as naturally as they should be.”

“So, let me get this straight.”

Sam sent Dean a warning glare to which he quickly ignored. 

“You run off sick. You shack up in this dump. And now some freaky Angel shit is happening and you weren’t gonna say anything?”

Castiel growled under his breath and snatched the single feather from Dean’s hand. “The Grace in me is reacting.” He disregarded Dean’s question altogether. “Theo’s Grace is being extracted by my wings. An Angel’s wings need power to molt completely and without it, they… break. Become increasingly brittle and diseased.”

“So, using the Grace. That’s good, right?” Sam asked.

Castiel shook his head and suddenly Dean was worried; the anger boiling his blood slightly ebbing away for the moment.

“No. Not in the slightest. His Grace is not powerful enough and the fact that it is not mine makes it much worse. My wings need a vast amount of Grace to fully molt. They will consume Theo’s Grace, but seek for more through means of reaching Heaven. Since Heaven is closed… there is no where else to collect a large enough supply.”

“So?” Dean asks coldly.

“So, Dean, my wings will not molt and will therefore burn away along with me.”

“Like- like a bomb?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“So, let us save you.”

“No, Dean.” 

And the rage was back, clouding his mind from forming appropriate words and keeping calm like Sam had been doing the entire time. “What- Cas you’re gonna explode from your own-”

“I said no! I belong to Earth no longer and neither do I to you. My time here is over.”

What. The. Fuck.

“But you can’t just-”

“Dean, I will not have this discussion with you again!”

Now they were both yelling; chests heaving and teeth gritting like their outburst in the kitchen earlier. “After everything! Really, Cas?”

“Dean… I have made my choice and you need to accept it.”

“But dying is the stupidest thing you could do.” Sam’s presence, in the moment of clouded judgement escaped Dean’s recognition. He stood quietly watching the scene play out; knowing perfectly well that Dean and Cas had to be the ones to talk this out even if most of it was screaming. “ I LOVE YOU, MAN. HOW MUCH MORE CAN I GIVE YOU?!”

“Nothing.” Castiel’s voice softened, his head lowered. “There is nothing more that can be given or received. Please go.”

“Cas-” 

“Go, Dean. Go, Sam. I want to be alone.”

The brothers lingered there, Dean breathing heavily and Sam unconsciously clenching his fists behind his brother. They waited for a response from the Angel, but there was nothing besides a raised finger pointing towards the motel room door.

He wanted them gone.

So, they left.


	12. Whatever it Takes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nah.” The sudden pain in his hand brought Dean to rub at it and sigh. “Think I messed up my wrist back there, actually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's late. But here's the final chapter!  
> Thank you

“Dammit!”

“Dean.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“Dean, calm down.”

“How do you expect me to calm down? He’s gonna die and he’s perfectly fine with it. I can’t let Cas just- just die!” Dean slammed a fist on the hood of the Impala; barely even realizing it was his Baby that he was subjecting his rage onto.

Sam swallowed nervously at his brother’s actions but steeled himself.

“I know, neither can I.”

“Sammy, he’s willing to just sit there… let that Grace go...” He waved his arms frantically in front of himself, “...go atomic bomb on him and- fuck! What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

“What the hell?!”

“Dean, I’m not letting him die, either. Not after we found out about his Grace and an actual, honest to God, solution- no deals, no bad shit- that could save his life.”

“Exactly, Sam. There’s finally none of the possible impending apocalypse if we try this shit.” Dean dropped his head, his chin almost resting fully on his chest. 

Castiel was stubborn and convincing him to do this would be like pulling out teeth. His mind was set already and Dean knew how hard he could be to change his mind. And there was still the nagging possibility that the extraction might do nothing and make matters worse.

Dean frowned. ”What do we do?”

“Honestly, I’m willing to do anything.”

“What?” Dean choked and lifted his head curiously at Sam. “What’re you sayin’?”

“He’s Cas. We’ve been through so much together and we don’t just let each other die. You didn’t let me die. We’re the freaking Winchesters and we  _ don’t _ let family die.”

“So… what now?”

“We take him back to the bunker.”

“He’s not gonna come with us. Once you’re hellbent on dying- that’s it. Game over. No changing minds no-”

“We take him.”

“Wh-” Dean forced himself to take a breath when he forgot to.

“We’ve got Enochian cuffs in the back. Slap them on and bring him home.”

“He’s no Angel anymore, Sammy, so what’s the point?”

Where the hell was Sam going with this?

“The Grace is going to keep swirling around, back to his wings, and unless we can stop it for the time being, they won’t stop molting and looking for more. We leave the Grace in him and he dies. We freeze it and extract it, problem solved.”

Oh.

Dean took a moment, wiping a hand over his face and clearing his throat. As much as he hated forcing the people he cared about to do things, this was Cas. There was an easy way to help him and keep him alive so they had to try.

Dean looked at his brother again and frowned. The last time he’d forced someone to live, Sam had been the one hurt and dealing with unwilling bodily possession. He partly believed Sam still hadn’t forgiven him, not that he necessarily blamed him.

But the thought of Castiel hating him afterwards, never talking to him again if he did survive the extraction…

Dean could live with Cas deciding to leave. It would hurt, but at least he would know that Castiel was safe and alive and no longer in pain. Physically. The mental pain… that was a whole different story and that could only go away with time.

“Okay… okay, you get the cuffs. In the trunk. Get ‘em. I’ll handle Cas.”

As soon as the words left his mouth and the trunk was lifted open, the sounds of running feet passed by their ears and a gust of wind quickly followed.

Both Winchesters looked in the direction where it’d come from and sparked their bodies into action.

Castiel was running from the motel, the door to his room still swinging open and his bare feet padding loudly against the cement across the parking lot.

Dean snatched the hanging cuffs from Sam’s hands and immediately took off; yelling after his brother to chase after them in the Impala.

Now, Dean was racing across the lot, eyes tightly locked on the staggering, limping figure of Cas as he sprinted away from the building and towards the back streets.

_ For an injured, dying guy, Cas is fuckin’ fast. _

Whether by some form of luck or speed and full health being on his side, Dean caught up with the man before they’d even made it past the motel building. The alley they were currently in was dimly lit by a single overhanging light and a lone two-door sat parked by the back entrance-headlights on.

With little to no remorse, as soon as Dean was close enough, he tackled Castiel to the ground; the asphalt cutting and burning at their bodies as they harshly landed. Dean could’ve swore he felt-or rather heard-a bone break somewhere between them but readily ignored it in favor of keeping the Angel pinned beneath him. He placed both of his legs on either side of the man’s body and held his wrists behind his back.

Castiel growled heavily, panting and wheezing, but Dean didn’t let go until he’d snapped the cuffs around Cas’ wrists. Instantaneously, his body grew lax and the fight in him nearly completely depleted. 

“Dean…” he struggled to say, his face squashed against the concrete. “Why… let me go…”

“No can do, buddy.” Dean panted. “I ain’t giving up on you that easy.”

“Hey!” A new voice joined them. The car door that had been parked by the motel was open and a man was warrily making his way over to the duo. “What’s going on here? What are you doing with that guy?”

The roar of the Impala’s engine sounded and Sam stepped out of the front seat, flashing his “fake” badge at the man. “Step away, Sir. Official FBI business.”

Dean couldn’t have been more thankful for his brother than at that moment. He didn’t know what he would’ve told the guy considering he didn’t have his own badge on him to keep up the FBI act.

The man stepped back and retreated into his car, taking one final glance at Dean, then Cas, then the FBI badge and immediately drove off and away from the scene.

“Alright, Cas. Come on.” With more caution than before, Dean pulled Castiel up to his feet and helped him hobble his way to the back of the Impala and pushed him in. The glare the Angel was sending him might have scared anyone else away, but Dean merely rolled his eyes, shut the door, and placed himself in the passenger seat.

“You’re not driving?” Sam asked.

“Nah.” The sudden pain in his hand brought Dean to rub at it and sigh. “Think I messed up my wrist back there, actually.”

 

The rest of the ride home was entirely uneventful. Not only where both Sam and Dean on edge, but the passenger in the back of the speeding Impala was the living, breathing reason for their unease.

Every so often, Dean would catch himself glancing at the rearview mirror- not at all to check the nonexistent traffic behind them. Every time, Castiel’s striking, electrifying blue eyes would catch his glance; and whenever Dean thought he could open his mouth to explain why Cas was currently sitting in the backseat handcuffed, a cold glare was sent his way. He’d send his eyes back to paying attention to the road and ignore the concerned shift of Sam beside him.

He knew his brother was worried about the two of them, but he was wise enough to keep quiet. It was shocking that Sam wasn’t mocking him, asking about possible boyfriend instances in the future. Though, the situation at hand had them thinking of anything else other than relationships. 

 

The moment the Impala pulled up into the Bunker’s garage, Castiel was earnestly fighting against the cuffs biting into his wrists. Dean was beside him in a second, grabbing him by the forearm and pulling him out of the car towards the stairs and then the dungeon. 

Not that Dean was in any good mood to deal with Cas, he couldn’t help but feel absolutely guilty about what they were doing. 

Castiel wanted to die. When someone got to that point in life, it was hard to come back from it. And to deny him-

Sam seemed to understand what his brother was thinking and took the reigns in the situation with a single look that said “stop feeling bad, I’ll handle this”. Dean couldn’t understand how he got all of that from one look, but obliged either way and let Sam take the lead.

Dean retreated from the Angel and allowed his brother to pull Castiel forward and lock him securely to the wooden chair in the dungeon where Crowley had once resided. It was an odd sight, to see nonetheless. Castiel sitting where the Demon king did once. His arms locked behind the chair still in the cuffs; the chain wrapped around the base of the wooden back to keep him from escaping. His head lolling as if in exhaustion, but glazed eyes still following every movement that Dean made. 

Unable to look at him anymore, knowing that if he were there the cuffs would be clattering to the floor; freeing the man. Dean forced himself towards the library- frantically searching for the one thing they needed. 

 

Hours had gone by- how many, Dean wasn’t sure. He was up to his elbows in books; tomes stacked high from floor to ceiling. Almost every bookcase in the library was empty and Dean sat in the center of the entire mess.

Yet still, he hadn’t found what they were looking for.

“Dammit,” Dean growled.

“Dean.”

He flicked his head around to the sound of his name and found Sam standing there, his arms crossed and his head tilted in worry at the frantic mess in the room.

“Still looking for it?”

Dean frowned and nodded his head. “Wherever the goddamn whatever you call it is, I have no freakin’ clue. These guys know how to hide their shit.”

“Yeah, figured as much.”

Dean returned to searching through the books, looking for clues or other information on the Grace extractor, hoping to find something of relevance to its location. Flipping through another book, he realized the presence of his brother had yet to leave. Lifting his head again, he caught sight of Sammy watching him intently.

“What?” 

Sam shook his head and crouched down to sit on the floor with his brother. “You need to go see Cas.”

Dean laughed.

“I’m serious.”

“I go in there, and knowing me, I’ll cut him loose.”

Sam opened his mouth to retort, but Dean stopped him with a hand.

“You know how I am. I swear to God, I’ll let him go if he so much as looks at me. You know how I am, Sammy.”

“Yeah. I know.” Sam reached for a book and glanced through it. “But, look. You know what we’re doing is important, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Okay. Go see him. He’s been sitting alone in the dungeon for hours, man. If I go in there…”

“You’ll do the same?” Dean finished.

“Exactly. But you’re a stubborn ass, Dean. You won’t let him go, but he needs someone in there with him. He’s sick and mad and all by himself.”

Dean slowly conceded, his eyes falling to his hands in his lap. With a start, he reared his head back and caught his brother’s gaze. “Wait. He been in there by himself?”

Sam nodded.

“This whole time?”

“Couldn’t get you in there anytime before now. You didn’t see yourself, how you were acting.” The state of the library would attest to that. “And I was in the store room, going through the Men of Letters stuff. See if the extractor might be there.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Dean forced himself to his feet, cracking his back and bending his knees to get feeling back in them. “I’ll go see what’s up with Cas. You finish looking for the… whatever.”

“Yeah.”

 

The dungeon was silent save for the heavy creaking the metal door made as Dean opened it.  Inside, the air felt musty, smelled odd compared to the rest of the bunker. The last time Dean had been in it, they’d been dealing Crowley and then with Gadreel. 

But Castiel was there, now. His body arched on the chair with his head hanging low to his chest- his arms pulled taught to the chair where they connected with the Enochian cuffs. He was a sight of misery and pain, his body shivering and his hair damp with sweat all at the same time.

Guiltily, Dean removed his jean jacket and draped it over the man’s shoulders, trying to give him at least some form of comfort in his current hell. 

Castiel didn’t acknowledge him- the only sign he gave to Dean’s hand resting on his shoulder was a slight flinch. Other than that, he was as still as he could be with the shivering taking over his frame.

“Cas, I’m sorry, buddy,” Dean whispered, afraid of talking any louder than that. “Look, we weren’t gonna just… leave you over there. Sam an’ I, we’re your family, man. You’re Sam’s brother and my…” 

He couldn’t say the rest.

Castiel made clear what he thought Dean had said. What he thought Dean was trying to see underneath those words. He didn’t believe the hunter could love him. The look in his eyes, broken as they were the moment Dean revealed his true feelings- Cas was dead inside. Castiel didn’t allow himself to believe that for once, maybe, he was being told the truth. Because in the lives of the Winchesters, Castiel included, nothing good ever happened. And when they got what they wanted, it was ripped from them in the end.

But just this once, Dean wanted this to work. This wasn’t Cassie or Lisa and Ben; this was Cas. They’d literally been through hell together, they’d seen each other’s lowest moments and Dean desperately needed this one to work.

Now that he allowed himself to think about it, he realized just how much he craved the man. How much he wanted to touch him and to be touched back.

“Cas, please… I need you.”

“Saying that… again and again. It won’t always work, Dean.” Came Castiel’s soft reply. 

Dean didn’t bother looking at the Angel. Couldn’t bring himself to it. 

Castiel carried on the conversation for the both of them, his head still hanging low and his breath shallow- voice quaking and teeth clattering as he spoke.

“Why do you insist… you and Sam know very well how difficult it is. How horrible this life is. Why do you insist on keeping me here?”

“Because.” Dean said. “Cuz you mean everything to us. We’ve been through shit. But we’re still here. You- sure, human is pretty sucky to be after being an Angel since forever, but dying-”

“Losing a portion of myself, Dean.” Castiel’s eyes bore into Dean’s now; the light of his blues shining dangerously close to a raging fire.  Dean flinched at the glare, but didn’t move away. “I was an Angel for a better portion of humanity's existence. I watched Jesus walk on water. I played a part in the slaughtering of first born children. I accompanied the Angels who traveled to hell to find the righteous man and pulled you out myself. My own Grace touched your soul and rebuilt you molecule for molecule. I rebelled against God, against my brothers and sisters. I wrongly assumed that closing the gates of Heaven would solve the problems here on Earth. But, instead, I was fooled. I was manipulated, controlled like the soldier I was created to be.” He gasped and looked away from Dean now. “I… fell for you the moment I gained a shred of humanity and understood what emotions were. But without the half of me, the thing that made me, my wings even, I’m just a stolen vessel that God, for some reason, I should come back with and continue whatever sick journey this is; this mission. But I’m just as lost as any human would be, just as broken and weak. I used to be a warrior and now I’m… this.”

“Cas-”

“I used to be a warrior of God, Dean!” His voice grew desperate. “I used to follow my father’s words and guidance. I used to watch humanity with keen interest and now I’m amongst them, seeing sides I never thought I would see. Cruel, violent. I take part in some of it and can barely help to heal their pains and aches because my wings are as damaged as my confidence. My self-preservation wears thin and I hardly see a point to continuing this meaningless cycle.”

Dean’s heart skipped at the cracks in Castiel’s voice- the sheer brokenness that burned with each word. The tremble to his lips and the water filling in his eyes.

“Castiel. You- Sam and I, we’re here for you. We ain’t gonna leave you. It was fucked up, what I did to you, but I swear, Cas, we’ll help you. You’re not an Angel anymore but we couldn’t give a flying fuck about that.” He dropped a hand on Cas’ shoulder and flinched when the man fought back a choked sob. “Cas, I’d never lie to you, never again. I- I love you even if you don’t believe it. Please… don’t- don’t let yourself go, let us help, man.”

Full blown sobs were wracking the Angel’s body now, forcing his body to shake harder and hoards of tears to drip down his chin and plop down to his knees and bare feet.

“Please…” Dean begged. It took all the effort he had not to cry too. 

The door to the dungeon opened again and in came Sam. He caught a glance of the two and pretended not to notice the intimate moment he’d walked into. “Dean.” He said softly. “I found it,” he waved the book in his hand to reveal a slit in the pages where the needle and capsule sat serenely.

Dean nodded and moved away from Castiel, reaching for the needle instead.

“You sure, Dean?”

Dean nodded, not trusting himself to speak or he’d be in as much tears as Cas. Whoever was going to do this, they needed to have a steel gut, be willing to work beyond begging and crying because he had a feeling that’s what the situation would turn into. 

Sam handed the needle over, setting the book down on the metal table beside him. He wrung his hands a moment before turning to Castiel- his head still hanging low- with gauze and alcohol. He pushed the Angel’s head back and wiped at the area just below his ear.

And as the cold liquid seeped into his skin, Castiel flinched back with a look of panic in his eyes, the tears falling faster than ever when he realized what was about to happen. He fought roughly against the cuffs, frantically pulling at his arms and trying to lift himself off of the chair he sat in. 

“Dean.” He looked around for the hunter before he made eye contact with him. “Dean, please don’t do this.” His eyes flicked down to the syringe clutched in his hand and then back to Dean’s face. “Please.”

Instead of replying, Dean looked away and at his brother. With a nod, he made his way for the Angel, giving his brother one last piece of instruction as Castiel continued to struggle. “Hold him so he keeps still, Sammy.”

“No!”

But Sam was already at the back of the chair, his arms wrapped around Castiel’s chest and shoulders to keep him from moving.

The memories of Sam in the panic room, calling and begging for his brother's help, all came flooding back. Ironically- or not- this situation was practically the same and Dean was, once again, the mediator.

Castiel was begging for Dean to let him go, begging to die. He swallowed back the memory and concentrated on the present instead. This would save Cas just like Sam had been saved all those years ago.

“Dean, don't. Stop, don't do this!” His voice was growing higher both in pitch and in volume.

If Dean didn't know any better, he might assume he was using his true voice to call out to the hunter instead.

“Dean, please!”

“God, Cas, I'm so sorry.” Dean whispered. “We gotta do this.”

“Dean! Sam, please. I don't want this, I don't- stop!” 

The wailing continued, sudden ripples of tears pouring down the Angel's face in anguish when the needle was finally pushed in. Dean kept a steady hand on his clammy forehead, the other as still as possible. He felt his own eyes sting at the pained sounds his friend was producing.

But he couldn't stop. He wouldn't let Castiel die.

The screaming continued, the pain plainly evident in the man’s face. His eyes were shut as tight as they could be, but tears continued to pour down his cheeks and nose. The veins in his neck strained with each pull of the syringe plunger, pulling desperately at the Grace that sat stagnant in Castiel’s body. 

In two minutes, Dean was counting, there was only a sliver of Grace in the capsule. At this point, Dean couldn’t tell how much more there might be, but he knew he couldn’t stop until the very last drop.

He kept the Angels head still, his hand gripped tightly in his unruly hair and the palm of it against his clammy forehead. Sam was grunting with the process of holding him down to the chair. 

“Please... “ Cas’ voice cracked. “Dean, please…” His mouth opened in a silent cry, his limbs quivering and his brows furrowed with pain. Even his toes were curled, trying to find a stable piece of ground to hang on to. He continued to cry.

“Hey, buddy…” Dean said softly, his voice only a few inches from Castiel’s ear. “You’re gonna get through this.” He choked. “You’re strong and-and I know you can do this.”

Castiel made another cry of pain and Dean rushed himself to keep talking, the syringe still extracting slivers of Grace. 

“How’s about we make a deal? You-we get this done, we have a movie night. You pick anything. We’ll get burgers and beer. And we’ll fix up a room just for you, go on a shopping spree for new clothes and stuff to make your room personal. What’daya’ say?”

Of course he wouldn’t get a response, wasn’t expecting one, but Castiel’s teeth snapped his mouth shut and he let out a soft whimper, his eyes opening for just a second to glance at Dean at his side before closing again. 

“I’ll take that as a yes…”

This continued on for another ten minutes, Dean talking to Cas, coming up with things they could do for fun, where they could go. Castiel continued to cry from the pain of the needle in his neck, but his body had gone slack and Sam no longer held a vice-like grip around him.

And then, finally, with a groan from Cas, the last of the Grace came flooding through the capsule with a slathering of blood mixed in. Dean slowly removed the needle and handed it to Sam, no longer able to look at it.

Sam was up in a moment, taking the syringe and placing it back in the discarded book where he shut the lid.

Castiel had slumped down in the chair then, his body completely devoid of any remaining strength; his eyes barely open and his breathing rough and heavy. 

But it was over. This mess was finally over and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syke!   
> I'm going to be posting an Epilogue after this chapter.   
> There's a lot of unresolved stuff that needs discussing, so stay tuned for next Saturday.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a collective mess.

 

It had been a bit over a week since the little “incident”, as Sam liked to call it. The three of them were far from okay, trust wise, but it was getting better. Castiel was slowly healing from the ailments and the injuries that followed in his path to suicide- purple bruises becoming lighter and bandages binding just about every portion of skin becoming scarce. Dean, on the other hand couldn’t be more thrilled about the turn of events, even if things were a bit shaky on one side of the scale.

One night in particular, Dean had wound up the courage to bring up the movie night he promised. 

Castiel sighed indignantly at his sudden enthusiasm and Sam ran to the kitchen to grab beers and the recent bags of takeout- Dean had been planning for the movie throughout the day.

“Come on, man. I ain’t gonna break my promise cuz you decided you wanted to sleep early today.”

“I don’t sleep early,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, you do.” Dean laughed. “Get to the TV room, blankets, pillows, fort, this movie night is happening.”

As if drilled on by a sergeant, Castiel was moving his feet, dragging more like, towards his room to grab whatever warmth he required. 

“Get ready for three hours of Wizards and short dudes cuz we’re watchin’ Lord of the Rings!”

A groan echoed down the hall.

In moments, the three were gathered in the room, armchair occupied by Sam- the moose- and Castiel and Dean being left to share the space of the couch. It wasn’t a tight squeeze or small in the slightest, but the amused chuckle from Sam made Dean roll his eyes. The man knew exactly what he was doing.

The origin of the rings appeared on screen and in mere seconds, the three men were immersed in the world of Tolkien; Castiel’s fascination and delight burned almost too bright for Dean, but he just smiled and gladly answered the questions tossed his way.

Two hours into the film, Castiel had begun to nod off, his head rolling to the side and a blanket tucked warmly under his chin. Dean couldn’t keep himself from staring at the man. Castiel’s beautiful eyelashes fluttering with each breath and attempt to watch the movie. The way his body inched closer to Dean’s warmth with each exhale. His body slumped so close, the loose strands of his hair gently brushed Dean’s cheek and suddenly, in a spur of confidence, the hunter pulled Cas to lie against his chest. 

For a moment, Dean thought Castiel would pull away the moment his body had stiffened. He seemed like a spring ready to launch himself away from Dean’s hold and hide back in his room once more. Instead, he relaxed into the hold and let out a contented breath. Dean stretched himself out to lie fully parallel on the couch, Castiel between his legs, lower back resting on his stomach and head on his chest.

The movie continued to play on as if nothing happened. Dean was so engrossed in the warmth surrounding him and the sounds of Mary and Pippin speaking to Gandalf, that the disappearance of Sam had completely escaped his awareness. It was just Cas and Dean now alone in the room, lying comfortably together with a movie.

Sam was a saint.

It was another minute of shallow breathing before Dean was able to bring up even more courage to sneak his hand into Castiel’s hair. He let it rest there for a moment, waiting for the inevitable backlash, before moving his hand through it.

His fingers worked meticulously through Cas’ tangled hair, his short nails scraping softly at his scalp.

And when Dean looked down at Cas, his face relaxed and head tilted onto the hunter's chest, his heart began to pound and he carefully put his hand to the man's chin. Castiel glanced up at him questioningly just as Dean shortened the distance and pulled him in for a chaste kiss.

 

\---

“I thought…” Dean gestured vaguely. “You know, that Angels are holy and follow God’s word and all that.”

“On sexuality?” Cas asked, confused.

“Yeah.”

“No, Angels don’t particularly care about genders or preferences for that matter. Generally, if a person was to catch an Angel’s interest, we wouldn’t associate ourselves with social norms.”

Sam laughed in the background, his teeth clacking against the beer bottle’s neck. 

“Haven’t met a single dude Angel that got freaky with another dude, yet.” Dean said bluntly. 

“Angels are celestial beings, we are but wavelengths compared to humans and have no gender.” Castiel scratched his chin and took another swig of his beer. “In fact, Gabriel had a rather strange assortment of interests in that area.”

“The Archangel Gabriel?” Dean choked.

“Who else would I be talking about?”

“Okay,” Dean continued, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Gabriel enjoyed the company of beautiful women, but he was infatuated with the idea of a man.”

Dean blinked. The confusion written all over his face was so barren that Castiel was able to see through it and sighed in exasperation. 

“Gabriel liked the idea of a largely built sex partner.”

All at once Sam spat out his beer, coughing against the liquid in his lungs and Dean roared in both shock and laughter.

“Too much information, man!”

But Castiel couldn’t see what he did wrong. Instead, he cocked his head to the side and eyed the Winchesters carefully; analyzing. Then, with a reassured nod of his head, he looked directly at Sam and leaned back in his chair.

“Sam would’ve very much been his type.”

Sam was out of his chair in an instant, coughing up the rest of his beer as he tossed the now empty bottle into the trash bin. His face flaring with embarrassment. 

“Cas, too much information!” Dean yelled, though his face was pulled into a wide grin as he watched his brother struggle to regain his composure.

Castiel laughed, his own body convulsing with giggles- he couldn’t help but to wink Dean’s way and smile uncontrollably. 

“Lemme know if you got a thing for my Angel’s brother, Sammy!” Dean called to his brother’s retreating figure.

“Oh, shut up, Dean.”

“If Gabriel were here-”

“Dean…”

“You’re fucking my brother, mate.”

Castiel coughed up a mouthful of beer, the chair beneath him slipped and he slammed his back onto the floor. The crash echoed throughout the bunker, both brothers were up in an instant to help the Angel up, but stopped midway at the increasing smile on his face. 

Dean blushed, his hand reaching out for his Angel.

Castiel smiled up at him, his crows feet at the corners of his eyes defining the larger his grin grew. Dean instantly fell for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who stayed with me for this story, I'm glad I made it to the end. Didn't make 50,000 words, but the fact that this story made it to the end really makes me happy.


End file.
